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(DIR) Return to: Adoption in the Media
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#Post#: 25--------------------------------------------------
I Found My Birth Parents
By: Montraviatommygun Date: March 4, 2011, 4:40 pm
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I Found My Birth Parents
By Lori Paris
Last edited: Wednesday, July 17, 2002
Posted: Tuesday, May 07, 2002
Fifteen years ago I searched for and found my birth parents. It
was such a unique experience, I wrote a book about it,
fictionalizing the story. This article will give you a personal
perspective of one family's reunion. I was adopted when I was
three weeks old. At about the age of seven, my parents told me I
was adopted, but I didn’t have a clue what that meant, and of
course didn’t understand it until I was older. My parents tried
for eleven years to have a child of their own. They went through
the adoption process, and as it so often happens, my mother got
pregnant. So my older brother was born. Because of
complications, my parents couldn’t have any more children, and
so they went through the adoption process again and got me.
So here I was, an adopted child living with a natural child. I
always felt so different from the rest of my family. But my mom
always said that they “chose” me, and that was meant to make me
feel special, which most of the time it did. There were however
times when I was growing up, that being adopted was confusing,
especially as a teenager. My brother and I were worlds apart and
never close while growing up, although I am happy to say that we
are very close as adults.
I was always curious about being adopted, and where I might have
come from. My mother was quite forthcoming with the information
she had surrounding my birth. She knew that my birth mother was
sixteen when she was pregnant with me. I was born in 1956, and
that was a horrible thing to be, sixteen and pregnant. She was
sent to a home for unwed mothers to wait out her pregnancy.
Times were so different back then, there was no question that I
would be put up for adoption. It all seemed like a simple story,
which it wasn’t. Thank goodness times have changed and the
stigma is not the same.
It wasn’t until I had my first child that I seriously started
thinking about my background. When I took my daughter to the
pediatrician for the first time, he asked me questions about my
medical background, etc. I didn’t have any answers for him. I
mean you can’t exactly use your adoptive history for that! So it
got me to thinking. There were other factors as well. My mother
was also adopted. She was never told. She found out by mistake
when she was in her mid-thirties, and felt horribly betrayed by
her parents. I don’t think she really ever got over it. She was
never able to discover who her biological parents were. But I
saw what it did to her, she was terribly bitter and resentful
for the rest of her life. But of course it was also the reason
that she had been so honest with me about being adopted, which I
was grateful for.
About the same time, I was taking a creative writing class at a
local community college. My instructor gave us writing
assignments every week, and I wrote about being adopted. Turns
out that she was adopted as well. After class one evening, she
told me that her biggest regret in life was that she never tried
to find her biological parents. She was well into her sixties at
that time, and felt it was too late.
Then, what clinched it for me was a small inheritance I received
from a relative who passed away. It just seemed like fate was
pushing me in that direction. Everything was falling into place.
Now I had the desire and the means. Even though I was afraid, it
did seem that it was my destiny to embark on a search for some
answers.
My mom even encouraged me. She thought it was a good idea to
find out my history. I hired a private investigator and gave him
as much information that I could. Two things that really helped,
I had been given a name at birth, and I knew the city I was born
in. The search began.
The private investigator didn’t reveal his search techniques to
me, he said that some of his methods were confidential, which
probably meant not exactly legal. But I didn’t care, as long as
he got results. And he did. It took him three months but he
found her. My birth mother. Once he found out her name, he found
out where she worked. He showed up at her work one day, and told
her that she had a long lost relative looking for her. She
almost fainted hoping it was me. He asked her if she wanted to
see me, and she said more than anything in the world. He set up
a meeting.
The private investigator was a tough guy, but a sweetheart. He
wanted to go with me to the meet. He wanted to see it through to
the end, and was hoping it would be a happy ending. He dealt so
much in the seamier side of human nature, he wanted to witness
something positive. It was fine with me, as I was far too
nervous to do this on my own. I had no idea what to expect, or
what kind of reception I would get from my birth mother. I was a
nervous wreck. We met in a coffee shop.
We waited in the lobby. My birth mother was coming to see me on
her lunch hour. As she approached the door, the P.I. said she
was coming. As soon as she walked in the door we instantly came
together. This was a moment that we had both been waiting for
all of our lives. We hugged and cried. The P.I. cried. People in
the restaurant were frozen in place, witnessing our reunion
without really understanding what it meant. It was a
movie-of-the-week moment. It was the proverbial happy ending. It
was an unbelievable and amazing connection. I never wanted to
let her go. I couldn’t stop crying. I could not let go of her
hand. We eventually sat down at a table and stared at each other
as if looking in a mirror. We talked about everything, nothing,
I can’t even remember what we talked about. All I can remember
is her. So lovely, so sweet, so kind. And I had questions, she
had questions. I never wanted it to end. But she had to go back
to work. We exchanged phone numbers, promising we would get
together again soon. She left, it was time to go. As the P.I.
and I drove home, I felt as if I were floating the whole way.
I was infatuated. I was in love. I had found someone who was
like me! Amazing…something that most people take for granted.
Thank goodness it’s something that my own children take for
granted. But what was going to happen now? How do you go about
forming a relationship with someone who gave birth to you, but
that you don’t know? There’s no guidebook for something like
this. I thought long and hard about it all. I realized that it
would take time, and that we would just make it up as we went
along. We had plenty of time to get to know each other, no
reason to rush it.
Slowly but surely, like getting to know a new friend, we got to
know each other. I learned that my birth mother never got over
having to give me up. As she was underage, her mother had to
make the decision for her. The most tragic part of this was that
right after I was born, I was slightly ill and could not be
immediately released to my adoptive family. My birth mother had
to care for me. Can you imagine? She had to take care of me for
almost three weeks until I was better. By that time, we had
bonded as mother and child, she was desperate to keep me, but
had no choice. She had to personally hand me over to the social
worker. She said that she cried so hard, my clothes we wet with
tears. I was taken away, and she never saw me again.
She went back to school and was horribly depressed. Once she
graduated and turned 18, she got married so that she could have
more children to try and fill the void. She had three more
children who are my half-siblings. It took some time, but
eventually I met all of them. My birth mother had never kept me
a secret from them. They all knew that they had a half-sister
out there. They all accepted me as a member of the family. We
aren’t terribly close as we are all spread out across the
country, and don’t have much of an opportunity to get together.
But they love me and I love them.
Of course I had questions about my father. I learned from my
birth mother that they had been high school sweethearts. She got
pregnant and told him. He didn’t know what to do. He told his
mother. His mother went to her mother to try and help. Her
mother denied the pregnancy and sent his mother away. My birth
mother was taken out of school and sent away. My birth father
never knew what happened. He never knew if a child was born or
not. He graduated from high school and never saw my birth mother
again.
My birth father. The last piece of the puzzle. Did I try and
make contact? It was risky. How would he react? I figured that I
had come this far. Might as well go all the way. He deserved to
know that he had a daughter and grandchildren, even if he wanted
nothing to do with me. I hired another P.I. to search. Since we
had so much more information provided by my birth mother, it was
easy to find him. It took less than two weeks.
The P.I. called him. Said a long lost relative was looking for
him. Mentioned my mother’s maiden name. Of course he remembered
her. Did he know he had a daughter? He said that was crazy, but
knew it wasn’t. He said that he would agree to meet me, only to
check me out. Was this really true? Or some kind of a scam? The
first thing he did was to contact a lawyer.
We met at a hotel. Once again, the P.I. accompanied me. My birth
father was there with his wife. She had sunglasses on and I knew
right away she had been crying. My father took one look at me,
and knew immediately I was his daughter. There was simply no
question, I look so very much like him. We were still quite
cautious around each other. It was quite a shock as you can
imagine. Having a 30-year-old daughter show up that you never
even knew you had. We really had to take it slow. And out of
respect for his wife also. Here is this young woman showing up
out of the blue, that was fathered by her husband and another
woman. A lot to take in, no wonder she was crying.
But another reason for the tears was the fact that my father and
his wife had never had any children of their own. This was his
second marriage, and he’d never had children with his first wife
either. And voila! Instant kid.
So once again, we took our time. His family welcomed me with
open arms. Especially his mother who had tried to help all those
years ago. She was thrilled. His brother and sister were
thrilled. His wife was not. Oh everything went all right at
first, but eventually she came to resent me. It was tough for my
father and I. They would fight about me, my existence was coming
between them. Imagine how that made me feel?
So we had to do a lot of work my birth father and I. And we
have. His wife has come around again, but it’s taken a very long
time. My father hadn't been a father before, so it was a
learning experience for him. But I never expected him to play
that role. I had parents, a mother and a father who raised me.
I’ve never looked to my birth parents to do that, even now that
both my folks have passed away.
It’s been 15 years since I met my birth parents. We’ve had many
ups and downs over the years, just like any other family. But
regrets? None. I will never regret finding them. I love them,
and they love me. We are bonded in a way that can never be
broken. Has it been easy? Definitely not. But we work on it. Day
by day, we do the best we can.
As this issue of adoption and reunion is so complex, I've also
written another article. If you are considering a search, there
are things you must think of, be prepared for. You must be
cautious. So the article will be full of suggestions, warnings,
and advice from someone who’s been there and experienced it
first hand.
(HTM) http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewArticle.asp?id=5413
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