By Lori Paris
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 FOUND MY BIRTH PARENTS
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.
Reprinted by Permission
of the Author Lori Paris.
About the Author:
"An adopted child, I grew up in Southern
California. As a young adult, I searched for
and successfully found both of my birth parents
and continue to share a unique relationship
with them. My experience compelled me to write,
fictionalizing the characters and events.
I now live in one of the most beautiful places,
Lake Tahoe. I am currently working on my second
novel."
Learn more about her first book: "Follow
Your Heart"
Authors website: www.authorsden.com/loriaparis
