Note: Bernadette's story follows Greg's story - read all the way to the end.
I
was born in 1974 in Denver, CO, and immediately given up for adoption through a
church-based family services organization. This was a "closed" adoption, and all
of my records were sealed from the world. My adopted parents knew very, very
little about my birth mother’s situation and information.
From my earliest recollections, I’ve always known that I was adopted, at least since I was old enough to understand what the term meant. My adopted parents have always been wonderful about reassuring me that my birth mother must have been acting in my best interests, and that she wanted me to have the best possible chance for a happy, healthy life with a family who wanted a little baby boy.
I remember a few conflicting emotions as a child regarding my being an adoptee. There were a few feelings of abandonment that I can identify in retrospect, a few issues with confusion among my childhood friends about my being adopted ("Why didn’t your mom want you?" kind of questions from kids who didn’t know any better), and a few angry moments when I would lash out at my adopted mom with comments like "You’re not even my real mother!" Don’t know where that came from (sorry, Mom), but obviously I had some deep-seated feelings on the issue somewhere. If I had to define my feelings about my adoption, I guess I’ve always had a bit of a hole in my heart wondering where I really came from, what my genetic background and nationalities were, and how my birth mother fared in life after making what was, I’m certain, a very difficult decision.
My adopted parents had one other child after the adoption, and my new little sister and I were (and are) very close. My adopted parents divorced when I was young (8 or 9), and I lived with my adopted mom for awhile, and then, as a teenager, with my dad. As a teen, I became more and more curious about my birth mother, and began picking my dad’s brain about what he knew. He has always been very supportive of my search. I married at 20, and a few years later began an earnest search for information about my birth mother, meeting with roadblock after roadblock. The agency who handled the adoption finally allowed me to access as much "non-identifying" information as I could, including my birth mother’s first name and some of the details of her circumstances. From there, I turned to the Internet. However, after searching numerous registries and web sites, I concluded that I wouldn’t be able to find my birth mother unless she came looking for me. I set up profiles on a couple of registries, and pretty much gave up my active search in 2004.
Four years later in June of 2008, on a whim, I happened to update my contact info on one of the registries. That fortunate accident was the final piece of a puzzle that I wasn’t even aware was being pieced together by the Alma Society. On a warm August morning, I was sitting in a coffee shop checking e-mails and I received a voice mail from Marie with the Alma Society. She had found my number (thanks to my updates on the Internet), and said she had some exciting news for me. I called her back right away, and, after a lengthy conversation confirming that our information matched, she told me that my birth mother had registered with the Alma Society years before, and that we had a match. Marie let me go so that she could contact my birth mother and let her know that we had found each other.
It’s difficult to describe the emotions of the remainder of that day. I alternated between excitement, nervousness, and disbelief. And throughout the day I found myself with a mysterious lump in my throat. A few hours after my first conversation with Marie, she called me back and told me that she had spoken with my birth mother, and that she wanted to initiate contact with me! I was given a confirmation of match report by the Alma Society with my birth mother’s name, location, and phone number. She wanted me to call her that evening!
Words cannot describe the thoughts and emotions that swirled around in my heart as I waited for the appointed hour. I took the afternoon off to compose myself and think about what I could possibly say in my first conversation with my mother – ever! Our arranged time finally arrived, and with trembling hands, I dialed. Hearing her voice on the other end of the line was incredible, and from the first few tentative words, the bonding began.
If it weren’t for the persistence and care shown by Marie of the Alma Society, I don’t know that my mother and I would have ever reunited. Now, we’re exchanging pictures and e-mails, and discussing the possibility of her taking a trip here to meet me and her three grandchildren. "Thank you" will never be powerful enough to express my gratitude for the Alma Society’s work.
Submitted by Male Adoptee for Publication August 23, 2008!
Bernadette's Story! Submitted September 6, 2008!
I can’t begin to describe the gratitude that my son and I have for the work the ALMA Society put into finding us both and for our reunion. My life, my very soul, has had a gaping hole for 34 years. I have been restored to wholeness and there aren’t words to describe my joy. My story, in part, follows.
I got pregnant when I was 15 years old and ran away to live with my sister in another city. Thank heavens, she helped get me into counseling and was there for me every step of the way – it could have turned out very badly otherwise.
Despite my determination that I would to keep my child, I was surrounded and supported by intelligent and practical people who helped me understand that I could not give him much of a life. The father was long gone. I had no skills, no high school diploma, no way to support us. I did not have the maturity or skills necessary to give him everything I wanted him to have. I did not want my son to grow up impoverished; and however selfish it may sound, I wanted to give myself a chance as well. It was the hardest thing I have ever done, to this day, but I signed the papers relinquishing all rights to the tiny person that I carried and delivered into the world.
With that also went any hope of ever knowing anything about son. I went on with my life with an emptiness that remained for 34 years.
I would have been thrilled to have an opportunity to know that he was healthy and happy but when I learned there was an organization that attempts to reunite birth parents and adoptees, my hope soared. I registered with ALMA as a birth mother - to be found only if my son wanted that. I did not want to intrude or try to impose myself on him – thinking that he must probably hate me.
I found out very recently that my son did want to find me and that he had searched for a number of years. Unfortunately I failed to keep my information up-to-date and soon all of my contact information was outdated. Greg ran into nothing but roadblocks and gave up after many years of trying.
I have no excuse or explanation for why I didn’t take the simple step of updating ALMA when I moved but I did not. I can only forgive myself for this with the knowledge that there is some reason that we were not meant to be reunited until now.
A dedicated and truly amazing volunteer would not give up on us. She managed to find Greg (he had not updated his file in a while either) and made one more attempt to locate me.
On the night of August 21, 2008 I received an email saying I had a message on Classmates.com. This is not something I would normally bother checking but for some reason, that Thursday night, I clicked on the link. The subject line of the message was the city where Greg was born and his birth date. I clicked on the message with my hand shaking and read the message that changed my life forever. There was no information in this first contact other than I should get in touch with them. I immediately sent a reply asking if they had information on my son. On the morning of August 22, the email arrived saying yes but they needed me to fill out some paperwork and then they would call me. I was flustered and struggling with the entire concept – concentrating on paperwork seemed impossible. I was slow to respond much to the frustration of the wonderful woman who was trying her best to unite us. Later in the day she emailed instructions to fax whatever I had so that she could talk to me – and she verified that indeed my son wanted to meet his birth mother. I drove to the nearest fax machine and as soon as it had gone through, I called Marie. She asked me a series a questions to verify the limited and non-identifying information that Greg had been able to find out about me and she got more excited with each response – we were matching up perfectly. She told me that she would call Greg and set up a time for him to call me that night. Before hanging up, she said “Oh, and by the way, congratulations, grandma!” Completely overwhelmed with joy, I sat down on the sidewalk – a necessity before my knees buckled.
In the hours between the call with Marie and the time Greg was to call me, I sat in a daze trying to take this all in. I had no idea what I would say or what he would think of me so it was with a shaking hand (and voice) that I answered the phone. The initial minutes were awkward but Greg set my mind at ease early in the conversation by expressing more eloquently that I can duplicate how he appreciated the fact that I had made a difficult choice but one that gave him a chance for better life. I credit his adoptive parents for instilling such a positive attitude about his birth mother and that there had to have been circumstances they could not imagine that would cause someone to give their up her child. He said all the right things to a mother who feared she had caused her son pain. He asked questions, I asked questions; we relaxed with each other so easily that by the end of our first hour-long conversation, it was hard to say good-bye. We emailed photos back and forth for the next couple of days and were already discussing my making a trip to Colorado. By Monday, as the shock was ebbing, I realized that his birthday was that coming Friday and talked to him about the possibility of coming that soon so that we could spend his birthday together. I was afraid it might be too quick for me to make arrangements and that he may feel I was rushing him…I needn’t have worried. He was as excited as I was and plans were under way.
It’s a 600 mile drive so I took 2 days to do the trip – knowing that I would be distracted. I arrived at our meeting place a few short minutes after he had been delivered 34 years earlier. I confess that while others saw a resemblance between us in photos he had sent, I did not see it until I approached him across the parking lot. It was like walking towards a mirror with the exception of his goatee and my long hair. There were again a few minutes of awkwardness and a lot of joyful exclamations of disbelief before we settled down with some coffee and started discovering the incredible number of traits that we share. We talked that first day for 10 or 11 hours straight, barely making a dent in catching up on 34 years that we’ve missed.
The following day, I met my 3 grandchildren; again, with trepidation. And again, all of my fears vanished while spending the day with my son and his children. We bonded; we discovered more of our many similarities; and we thoroughly enjoyed our first of many days together.
I was able to spend several more days with my son exploring Colorado; delighting in every discovery of our shared traits and interests.
After five and a half unbelievably glorious days together, we had to part company. It was difficult, to say the least, but at the same time, it was a celebration. I will be moving to Colorado to be with my new-found family in the very near future and that keeps me going. Every minute I spend wrapping up the last phase of my life brings me closer to the beginning of a new life with my son and grandchildren.
Never, in my wildest dreams, could I have imagined an outcome this wondrous, this joyful, this perfect. As my son and I have both expressed on numerous occasions, there are no words to describe our reunion – we will have to invent new ones – just for us. Thanks to Marie and the ALMA society for giving us this gift.
Note from ALMA - Thank you for sharing your story with us and others!
Contact: MAnderson@almasociety.org
