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.