Disclaimer 1: This blog is about adoption through the eyes of an adoptee. The adoption narrative usually portrays adoption as all rainbows and unicorns with the adoptive parents hailed as saviors. I do not discount that there are good things that come from adoption stories but rarely is the adoptee voice heard in the narrative. I hope to show you the good, the bad, and the ugly. Please keep an open mind while reading.
Disclaimer 2: I truly appreciate my adoptive family. I love them. I mean no harm to either my adoptive or biological family with my story portrayed in this blog. I want to be as honest as I can with my feelings and my experiences. Therefore, you can get an accurate picture of an adoptee’s life and how we see the world. Some names have been changed.
“I am not a writer, but I have a lot to say.”
“Adoption loss is the only trauma in the world where the victims are expected by the whole of society to be grateful.” – Reverend Keith C. Griffith
I do not recall when it was brought up, but I do remember being told that if I ever wanted to find my birth parents, I would have to go through the court that my adoption took place. To a child/teenager, that seemed like a monumental task. It overwhelmed me to fathom that process. I knew it was something I could not take on, so yet again, I felt I would never know my story.
When I was 18 years old, I felt a need to reconnect with my past. I really did not know what I was looking for, but I had this urge to find some clarity to the questions I had my whole life. At the time, the only logical thing for me to do was to find my adoptive father. He left when I was in 2nd grade. I had only seen him a handful of times when I was in elementary school. I had heard he remarried but I did not know much about him. I knew that this was something I could not bring up to my mother or anyone else in my family. There was and still is a lot of anger towards him. He left and never looked back. He left and never paid child support. He left and never even gave my brother and I another thought. So, why did I still feel like I needed to find him?
After high school, I felt like a lost soul. I did not run off to college (although it was something I really wanted to do). Knowing that I needed to make my own way, I moved out of my mother’s house. I worked and had roommates. It was not the best situation and I knew I wanted more. Although at the time, I considered my situation and my choices as typical behavior for a teen/young adult, I knew it was not the path I saw for myself. I brought up my thoughts and ideas of rekindling with my adoptive father to my roommate and she agreed to help me locate him. Now, this was before the internet or smart phones so it was a much harder task than it would be today. I do not remember how we searched for him. I did have a general idea of his location, so we called several town halls. Once we had a physical address for him, I sent a letter. The waiting began.
A few weeks later, the letter I sent was mailed back to me as no address found. I found this weird because that was the address given to me by the town hall. I called the post office…. well, it was his physical address but there was no mail truck that went to that location. Instead, he had a PO box. Of course, the employee at the post office would not give me the PO address. So, what does my roommate do…she grabs the phone, tells them that she is my mother, and I am sick, and we need to get a letter to my father. Jaw drop! It worked. Well, he would not give us the address but said if we mailed it back, he would get it to the PO Box. Apparently, he knew my father.
This whole time, I felt as if I was an adult. I had moved out and I had started this search on my own. And it was my search. I did not want my mother to know about what I was doing because I knew how she felt about him. This was just something I had to do for myself. Over the years, these types of situations had come up and I refer to these situations as chapters in my book. Chapters that either tie up a few loose ends and close that part of my life or chapters that bring so much more to my story that I need to dive deeper. At this point, I was not sure what type of chapter this was. I did not know where this journey was going to take me, so I felt it was best to keep my mother in the unknown until I figured it out. I like to remain quiet until I have all the necessary information before presenting my case. And yes, I felt as if I may need a lawyer to present my case to her. I knew she would never understand the need for me to search him out.
Several days go by after I mailed the letter. I assumed I would hear back soon from him. But…what I got…was a call from my mother. OOPS! Apparently, the employee at the post office told my father that my mother had called and told him I was sick, and they were trying to get in touch with him. The only number currently that my father had was my grandmothers. So, he called my grandmother, who then called my mother, who then called me…. It was not boding well for me at this point. I probably needed that lawyer at this point or at least a mediator.
People were not happy with me. I felt terrible… I felt as if I had disappointed my family. There was still something in me that was curious about this man and what he meant to me. I met him and I listened to his stories. You will find out later, that the father figures in my life were just like the stories I had heard about them. Did I believe him? Did I trust him? Not much. But I needed to find out for myself what type of person he was. I met his “new” family. He married a woman who had 4 kids from a previous marriage. To say I was envious was an understatement. On the outside looking in, the family seemed to have a fantastic relationship. I spent Christmas with them that year and had a good time. I got to see an Aunt that I had not seen in years. It was going well. I felt like maybe I was starting to come to a point in my life where I was healing.
I enlisted in the Air Force. I knew I needed to get away and see the world. I needed to do something for me. Although my relationship with my father was not great, I felt that I had come to a ~sort of~ peace with the situation. I do not like having loose ends and I felt I had tied them up nicely. We did not have a close relationship. By no means did I feel that I had that father/daughter bond, but I did feel that I was moving in the right direction. I was maturing and I was forgiving. I left for the Air Force. I got through training. I moved to England and I met my husband.
Sean and I met when we were stationed in England and were married within 6 months. We made a trip to the states after my son was born. It was the first time we were meeting each other’s families and, to top it off, we were bringing home a baby. Of course, during this trip, we had stopped to visit various family members. I made sure to visit my adoptive father and his family. I tried to include them in our lives as much as possible. I had always been the type to consistently keep in touch through letters and pictures. I always took pride in being in touch with family and friends. But I always felt slighted when it was not reciprocated.
When my son was born, I had this unbelievable feeling come over me. I agree with the fact that mothers talk about this instant love that comes over them when their babies are born. However, for me, it was the first time that I was looking at someone that shared the same DNA as me. I would stare at him for hours and wonder if he looked like anyone that I was blood related too. Truly, it was a surreal experience. When we went back to states to visit family, we could compare him to his dads’ side of the family but not mine. Secretly, I would hope people would say he looked like me just because I never had anyone look like me. Secretly, I would always get disappointed when they said he looked like his dad.
Having a baby brought about many thoughts. Most people know their medical background and know what they may be passing on to their offspring. I did not know, and this bothered me. I wanted to do everything right for my baby and I felt I was already letting him down. It was at this time I knew I had to take the steps to start looking for my biological family. I just did not know how.
I knew I was born in Maine, but my mother had said the adoption agency was in Boston. I began calling around. I located Boston’s Children’s Services and they were the ones who facilitated my adoption. It was a long process to get my birth information. First, I had to fill out an application and send them $75.00 to process it. At the time, $75.00 was a lot of money for my husband and me. We were young parents. But I knew I had to spend the money to get some answers. I did not agree with an adoption agency taking money from me…especially when it was to get the information that was mine to begin with. The system is totally stacked against the adoptee.
It took several months to get my information. I had been told over the phone that the information could be one of two things. First, if my biological parents had left identifying information or had checked off that they wanted to be contacted before giving out the information, the adoption agency would facilitate our reunion. Second, if my biological parents had not left identifying information and/or had not stated they wanted to be reunited, then they would send me any non-identifying information they had for me.
We lived overseas, so the mail was a lot slower getting to me. I knew I was in a holding pattern until the information showed up. It was a hard-few months, but I did not realize how hard it would be to get the packet in the mail and then to read it. Literally, I was shaking. Here in my hands was the information I had been waiting for my entire life. To say that I was scared was an understatement. I think about the movies, and how people are receiving this information and they put it aside because they are not ready to look at…Yeah, I don’t understand those people. I tore the envelope open. looked for any information I could digest immediately to tell me who I was. Unfortunately, all I had was non-identifying information. My biological parents did not leave who they were nor had they called at any time after they put me up for adoption and requested to be reunited. I was torn by this. I had two pages of non-identifying information that would get me through the next twenty years of my searching.
When my first daughter was about 18 months old, we made a trip back to the states. Most of our family had not yet met her and we finally had the chance to make the trip. I had called my adoptive father to tell him we were coming back, and he told me he wanted to meet up with us. When we arrived, I made several calls to people to confirm when we were going to visit them. When I called his house, his wife answered the phone and told me he had disappeared, and she had no idea where he was. But she still wanted to meet with us. We did make the trip to see her and it was a very uncomfortable experience. I cannot tell you if she knew where he was or not, but she put on an act that she was happy to see us. Once again, I was abandoned. Did I expect it? Yes, it did not surprise me. After this visit, I had kept in contact with my aunt and I got little bits of information about him. He turned out just like what my family had told me. I should not have expected too much from him because he had nothing to offer me.
From receiving the non-identifying information of my biological family to dealing with an absent father, subconsciously played a major role in my views of who I was and on my relationships. I knew I had my husband to talk to about what was happening (even though he didn't really understand my feelings), but I was also keeping it from my adoptive mother. As I said before, I needed to figure this out on my own and as there was not really anything to report (finding birth parents) why would I upset her with the new knowledge I had gained. I also questioned if this information was so easily accessible to me, did she already have it?
In the non-identifying information, it gave me details of my birth (time, date, birth weight, type of delivery). I must have read this information hundreds of times. I was sure I had missed something. I was trying to read between the lines. Of course, nothing new popped out but I was hopeful. I learned what my ethnicity background was (yes, French was on there) and I was totally surprised that my mother’s side of the family was Lebanese. And yes, there was some Irish in there too. I got to dive into all the relationships of my birth parents, such as siblings, grandparents ages. Etc. I even had information of my birth parents’ hobbies. What I found even more shocking was that my biological parents were in a relationship for 1 ½ to 2 years, they even had contemplated marriage, but the families were against it. She made the decision to put me up for adoption and was sent to a maternity home in Maine. It was a very emotional time for me. It was amazing to have this information but I felt like I wasn't any closer to knowing who they were. Plus, I didn't have anyone who had gone through this type of situation. It was tough to get people to understand what I was going through and the confusing emotions I was feeling. These two pages I received from the adoption agency would have to be enough for now. It was more than I had before. It got me through the years but the desire to find them just would not go away.
I still did not have much health information. After the birth of my first daughter, I began to have health issues (I will discuss these in another post) and my anxiety was high. I craved control. I tried exceptionally hard to stay healthy and do all the right things, but I just kept having issues. This health anxiety along with not knowing my family history of disease just compounded. I do believe that years of this has done damage to my overall health.
I had two small children, living in a foreign country without any extended family, and was a full-time student at university. It was difficult but I would never wish for a different experience. Finally, I was going to get the education I wanted. I learned a lot, made some great friends, and grew as a person. I had a family to raise and I had to put my feelings aside to take care of them. I suffered silently for many years. I tried to be very open with my immediate family and close friends but the social construct of adoption led to many unwanted conversations. You see people view adoption as a grand gesture on the part of the adoptive parents and that we adoptees should be forever grateful. Over the years, I have been talked down to on many occasions. I have been told things such as "at least you were not aborted" to "why would you ever want to know the people who gave you up?" My feelings are complicated and to have to explain this every time the adoption conversation came up would have been so exhausting. Most times, I just kept my mouth shut but now I have found my voice and I want to educate people about the other side of adoption.
About five years after my trip to the states and learning about my adoptive father’s disappearance, I received a phone call from him. He was drunk and not making much sense. He was apologizing for his behavior. I was shocked. The phone call did not last very long. At the time, I had no idea it was going to be the last time I talked to him.
We moved back to the states in 2001. I had kept in touch with my aunt through letters and random phone calls where she would give me updates on my adoptive father. I received a letter from her telling me that he had cancer. At this point, I just could not bring myself to call him. I figured if he wanted me to know, he would call me himself. He never made that call. On New Year’s Day, I got the call from my aunt that he had died. There was a sense of sadness and I did mourn what could have been with him. But then the bomb shell was dropped by my aunt… she said my sister had been with him. Say again? Sister? I had no idea what she meant. How was I ever going to tell my mother that he had a biological child when she had always told me it was him who could not have children? But I had to tell her… she would see the obituary.
At my adoptive father’s funeral, I met my “half” sister. It took a while for me to get my head around this. Legally, she is my sister. Her father is on my birth certificate, but I had been so wrapped up in finding biological family, it never occurred to me that he had other children and if he did how they would relate to me. I went to the funeral to close that chapter with my father. I sat through a funeral service with a priest talking about how wonderful of a father he was… I am not sure who gave this priest the information on my father’s life and/or personality but it was really a slap in my face sitting there listening to it. Yet another moment where I walked out of a situation just shaking my head. My sister and I have kept in touch over the years. We have had times with no contact, but we always pick back up. In the beginning, it was new, and I was excited to get to know her but then life happens. We were strangers only tied by this one man who neither of us really knew. Recently, we have reconnected, and I have vowed that we will stay connected this time. Life is too short and we both are victims in this. We did not ask for it, but we do have a common history and we can be each other’s support system.
As I wrote this blog, I had to stop several times to gather thoughts. I do realize that is heavily written on the negativity of my adoptive father and not much on the positive relationships I have with other members of my adoptive family. My intent is to show you my thoughts on adoption and what it can do to a person. We often hear that children are adopted out so they can have a better life. I am not by any means saying I had a bad life, but I can tell you, I do not think it was a better one. I think adoption just gives you a different life. Also, I have not gone into some pertinent information/history because I do not believe it is my story to tell so a lot of the background is lost. I understand and appreciate that I cannot tell the whole story. What I can tell you is that adoption is a very hard thing to live through. It is a journey and one that I am not even close to completing. As you will see in later posts, I did not really understand all my feelings towards adoption until a few years ago. I have these memories that I am sharing, but at the time I did not understand how they all played a role in the destruction of my overall physical and mental health. We call this the “adoption fog”. I slowly came out of this fog in my 40s.
I am a huge fan of the show This Is Us. It never fails to have me in tears. I feel such a connection to Randall’s character (he is the adopted triplet). The last few episodes have been especially hard for me because of writing this blog. It seems like each time I put my thoughts on paper, I turn around and hear Randall say the same thing. The writers of the show really did get his character right. Even though he is a made-up character, I do believe he represents a lot of what adoptees feel. Kudos to the creators of the show!
Live Healthy! Live Happy!
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