Posts Tagged ‘California’

Native Awakenings

Thursday, October 9th, 2014

An Indiana Adoptee Finds Her Alaskan tribe—

I have lived my whole life with skin that doesn’t burn in the sun, dark eyes and jet black hair. I’ve dreamt vivid, lucid, colorful dreams shaded with images of animals and earth’s elements. My night quests were often filled with salmon and streams, and I was carried away in a current. The water above and below me flowed in one direction, but my body was pulled along an opposite middle path.

For as long as I can remember, I felt as if I’d been severed from something. The forbidden questions I dared to ask about my adoption as a child were met with unsympathetic responses and nervous tapping fingers. The answers given: “We were told your birth father was one-quarter Aleutian Indian. You don’t want to open doors you cannot close. Your adoption records are sealed and that is the law.”

I was never introduced to Native American culture. My adoptee journey started in 1965, when I was born and adopted in the state of Indiana, one of more than thirty states that still have sealed adoption records. Non-identifying information is available in Indiana, but identifying information is only available if the first mother registers and signs a waiver of consent.

Those avenues were closed to me. Thankfully, today’s internet offered an alternate path to zip past prehistoric laws and unravel my ethnic mystery.

In the fall of 2013, I searched for DNA tests that determine ethnicity and found three companies: 23andMe, FTDNA and AncestryDNA. I had waited 47 years too long, dreamt too many dreams of being tugged away from something. I wanted real answers—to know if I was just a tan looking white-chick, or if I really had Native American ancestry.

While there were DNA tests that look solely for ancestral heritage, I began my search with 23andMe because at the time they provided genetic health information, such as whether I carried certain DNA mutations that lead to specific cancers or other diseases.

For an adoptee who has never had access to accurate family medical history, this was crucial information. (Unfortunately, the FDA has since stopped the company from offering this service.) I submitted my saliva sample and waited six weeks for the results.

When they arrived, I was shocked to find out I was in fact half Native American, my father full blooded. I mourned all the years I was denied my Native culture and never given the opportunity to know or celebrate my ethnicity with pride. My dreams, the strong spiritual connection I’d always felt to animals and the earth, the disinterest in the material world, all finally made sense to me in a way that made me feel rooted.

Thankfully, my medical history came out clean. Next thing I knew, I was accepting waivers stating that I’d read all they had to say about finding close relatives. I clicked away until I landed on a page that said there was a man with whom I shared 25% DNA. 23andMe suggested he was a nephew, but I knew in my heart he was my half brother.

We share the same birth date, one year apart. I messaged him right away and he responded promptly. He (Kevin) is 99.9% European. Since Kevin is nearly all European and I am half, it was clear we have the same mother. Kevin was born in Illinois, where adoption laws allowed him to access to our mother’s name. He agreed to share it. After that, I searched for her for months on end.

The excitement of finding him prompted me to submit samples to two more DNA testing companies. My ethnicity results returned the same. All three connected me to Native American distant cousins located along Alaska’s Yukon River.

I messaged everyone. Some replied, including Gail, a cousin who took me under her wing and offered to help me search for my Native birthfather.

In the meantime, I searched the internet daily for my mother. I drew family trees working them backward to forward. I searched every woman with the same name until “ruling out” was the only task left. Finally, in February 2014, I found her. She was on a public family tree. Also on that tree was a cousin from my European side, a photo of my mother, and her married last name.

I went on to find her on Facebook too and sent two messages that explained who I was (a nurse and mother) and what I longed to know, simple things like where I was born and the name of my father. I also told her that I was doing well and didn’t need to know the whys.

After those messages were met with silence, I sent a message to one of her siblings and received a note saying my birthmother would be willing to look at a letter again. The letter ended by wishing me peace and God’s love.

In my third letter to her, I confessed that I was petrified of hurting her and being rejected without answers. I promised to honor her private life, shared that Kevin and I were getting to know one another, and explained my DNA test result conundrum. And I asked again for my birth father’s name. I closed the letter by saying “I hope that you know you are loved.”

She responded a day later, asked for my address, and promised a letter. Six weeks later, it arrived. She confirmed that Kevin was my half brother, and gave me my father’s name.

Days earlier, my cousin Gail had posted my photo on her Facebook page, along with a brief note about my search for my father. I added his name in the comments and it flew like wildfire in the wind on a hot day. Within 90 minutes I had a gazillion relatives.

I was accepted without question, honored with phone calls, and welcomed with tears of joy. These new cousins shared stories about my father, how he’d been offered training with Chicago’s Job Corps in 1965 and spent 12 years in the lower 48 picking cotton in Georgia and oranges in Florida before returning home. They say I am much like him: tall, dark, and thin with a gentle and goofy nature. I wish I could have met him.

Artist (and Mary's cousin) Rose Albert's "Vision" reflects Alaska's various cultures

Artist (and Mary’s cousin) Rose Albert’s “Vision” reflects Alaska’s various cultures

My father, a full-blood Athabascan, walked on in 1992. My family assures me he would have loved me and done anything for me, had he known about my birth. I gaze at his photos and I see me, see white light reflected within dark brown eyes. I know his thoughts through these eyes. A history of memories carried through genetic markers that can never be washed away. My longing for connection to that history is so strong.

As for my mother’s family, Kevin and I are still secrets. However, I appreciate that she honored my request and signed the waiver to release my original birth certificate—the certificate that confirmed my father’s name, my Native American ethnicity, and had a checkbox marking me as “illegitimate.” My half brother and I grow closer as time progresses. We talk on the phone and email photos. I hope to meet him soon.

Mary and her cousin LaVem

Mary and her cousin LaVem

I recently met my first cousin LaVem. Our fathers are brothers. She flew to Las Vegas from Fairbanks, Alaska to celebrate her 50th birthday and I met her there. LaVern is the first biological relative I have ever met.

Meeting her was a special love at first sight. We laughed and joked and got along like we’ve known each other forever. We shared photos of ourselves on Facebook for our friends and Alaskan family to see.

Next summer my tribe will hold a memorial potlatch in Alaska. “Potlatch” is a native term for a tribal gathering that is celebrated with gift giving, traditional song and dance, and ceremonial practices for blessing. I hope to attend.

I’m immensely thankful to settle in to my heritage and share it with my children. And I’m thankful for programs now open to us that include healthcare benefits and college scholarship opportunities. If I had never known of my lineage, my children and I would have no access to these opportunities or our familial heritage.

It’s extremely healing for me as an Alaskan Native American to know where I came from. Knowing one’s history not only has the power to root someone in their past, it also opens doorways to the future, and our children’s future, too.

Image credit: “Iditarod” and “Vision” by artist Rose Albert.
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Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resources, discover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

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Genetic Testing: Miracles and Science

Wednesday, September 3rd, 2014

An adoptee twice rejected by her first mother turns to genetic testing for information and discovers a whole new family. 

It has been 25 years since I found my birth mother. She has rejected me two times since. My search began in California in 1986 when I was in my early twenties. I hired a private investigator and made use of the “non-identifying information” a compassionate social worker had provided. The investigator made the initial contact. It was a disaster; my birth mother did not want to be found.

Apparently my birth had been a frightening chapter in her life and one she wanted to keep closed. Imagine a pregnant eighteen-year-old girl in prison during the dawn of the free love movement, giving birth while incarcerated, not to mention in an era that stigmatized out-of-wedlock pregnancy. She had no desire to revisit her troubled youth through meeting me, and, the hardest part, no curiosity or desire to know who I was.  

I cried. I felt awful, guilty even.

It took months to work through my emotions over this second rejection, but I finally wrote to her. She responded with a letter that expressed her firm wish to draw a line that separated her from her past. Our only other communication was through two more letters over the years that followed. They met with the same result. Time seemed to have no effect on her wounds.  To this day I’ve never met her, nor spoken to her on the phone.  

I know I can’t control how she feels. I can only control my own reaction. I admit it hurts, but I’m not the type to kick something around forever.  Thankfully, my life is full of other moments. Great moments, especially those surrounding the births of my two sons and the years spent raising them. 

As the years have ticked by though, I increasingly wondered about my birth father. My birth mother was the only person who knew his identity and she was unwilling to divulge that information.

I made a rogue attempt to use social media to locate him. My Facebook page plea included the date and place of my birth, along with several photos of me throughout the years. I waited.  Several weeks went by and there was no shortage of shares. Like a cheesy 80’s shampoo commercial, I told two friends and they told two friends, and so on, and so on. 

The result: nothing. In the end, I surmised that my birth mother never told him that she was pregnant. How do you find someone who has no idea that you exist?

After that failed social media experiment, I took a break from finding him, until gnawing questions about my health history prompted me to try genetic testing. 

Thank you, science and technology. I spit in a test tube, waited a few weeks, and 23andMe (a genetic testing company named for the 23 pairs of chromosomes in a normal human cell) gave me a genetically “clean” bill of health. The report explained that they detected no mutations or gene variants that would indicate serious inherited conditions, only a couple of genes indicating an elevated risk for non-life threatening conditions such as psoriasis and restless leg syndrome. 

This was before 23andMe suspended their health-related genetic testing to comply with the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s directive. 

After I received the health results, I played around with the “Ancestry Composition” section of the site. I was fascinated to find out that I was mostly British and Irish, which was at least partially similar to my adoptive parents’ British and German ancestry. Given my propensity for arguing, raising my voice in exciting situations, and talking with my hands, I figured there would be a bit of Italian in me. Nope. I was enchanted anyway with the idea of being British and Irish, and fantasized I was related to Bono. 

Initially, I never thought to look at the “DNA Relatives” section of the site. I already knew who my biological mother was, and I knew she hadn’t had other children. As for my birth father, I figured he wouldn’t be looking for me, and given his age (early 70’s), he probably wasn’t spitting in a test tube to get in touch with his genes.

A few weeks after analyzing the health data, I received an email from 23andMe. It was a conduit email from a “potential relative.”

Hi – Through our shared DNA, 23andMe has identified us as relatives. Our predicted relationship is 4th Cousin, with a likely range of 3rd to 6th Cousin. Would you like to explore our relationship?

Fourth, maybe even a 6th cousin?  Whoop de doo. With no blood relatives that I actually knew, except for my own boys, a 4th cousin was too distant to rouse my curiosity.  Even if he were related to me on my paternal side, how would I know?  These potential matches typically request lineage information—a list of surnames to help piece together a family tree. I had no surnames to offer, so I ignored that first message. 

I received a few more requests, but they were all the same—distant cousins. The flurry of them, though, finally prompted me to check 23andMe’s “DNA Relatives” section. I could have shut off these notifications, but now I was a curious to see if there were other matches who hadn’t reached out yet.

On that page, 23andMe reported that I had 762 potential relatives. 762! What does one do with this kind of information?  Okay, maybe a lot of people care about distant cousins—it’s a way to find common ancestors and build your family tree—but I didn’t have a family tree.  I barely had a shrub. 

Then I saw it: “One Close Family.” What? Who? I clicked on it, but before 23andMe would reveal any details, a warning popped up. I had to confirm that I really wanted the information.  

23andMe asked for two layers of consent before it revealed a close family relationship. First, I was given the chance to turn off the “relative finder” function, which shows relations as close as second cousins. Once you’ve opted in, if 23andMe finds a close relative (closer than a second cousin), a pop-up warning explains how this “new” evidence of a close family relationship can be unexpected and even upsetting in some cases.  Upsetting? Been there. Of course I wanted to know! I clicked, then:

You may learn information about yourself that you do not anticipate.  Such information may provoke strong emotion.

Thanks 23andMe. Now I was scared. But I clicked “proceed” anyway. Then I saw it:  Male, Father, 50% shared, 23 segments

Father?  My biological father?!  23andMe had found my biological father! Boy, this was not some online game, yet I felt like I’d just won the lottery—50.0% shared, 23 segments.

I had to contact this guy. 23andMe required that initial contact be made through them. I could hardly think straight as I typed out a message to my father: 

Hi,

I am contacting you because 23andMe has identified you as a relative of mine because of our shared DNA. 23andMe has predicted, through our DNA “match,” that you are my biological father. You won’t recognize my name, because I was adopted and bear the name of my adoptive parents. However, my birth mother’s name is Margaret Michaels. I hope that the name Margaret Michaels is familiar to you, although it was 50 years ago and I understand that it was a difficult time for both of you. I hope that you will respond to my message and that you are interested in exploring our relationship. I look forward to hearing from you! Laureen Pittman 

(Original birth certificate reads: “Baby Girl Michaels”)

It hasn’t been an easy journey. At first, he thought our match was a mistake. My birth father—a self-proclaimed “old hippie”and artist who had fully immersed himself in the early 1960’s beatnik culture—had no recollection of his encounter with my birth mother. He doesn’t even remember her name, but since the geographic details and genetic facts all added up, our match could not be denied. 

He lives in another state and I have yet to make the journey to meet him.  We’re taking things slow and communicating through email. I’m grateful and amazed at his openness. He is telling me his truth, his story, and I am telling him mine. It’s really something to hear and be heard by a biological relative, and hard to explain how powerful that is to people who grew up with the ability to take that for granted. It feels like a miracle, like a whole new world opened up, with a little help from science.

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Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resources, discover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

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PACER of Northern CA: Helping Those Impacted by Adoption Since 1979

Monday, July 14th, 2014

PACER (Post-Adoption Center for Education and Research) was founded by Dirck Brown in 1979, well before most of society even recognized the need for support and education for adoption-affected individuals.

Brown, an adoptee and successful college dean, knew firsthand the lifelong impact of adoption, and after searching for and reuniting with his birth parents in 1976, began an adoption support group in his own living room. His trailblazing idea blossomed from there. The organization was unique in that it provided support for all members of the adoption triad: adoptees, birth/first parents, and adoptive parents.

PACER has been a leader in Northern California’s adoption support community now for over 35 years. It is a nonprofit, grassroots group led by volunteers. PACER’s offerings include support groups, referrals, mental health services, community events, and educational resources for anyone affected by adoption. The group advocates for open records and transparent policies, as well.

April Topfer, PhD, is PACER’s current president. She is an adoptee and pre-licensed Psychological Assistant who has been in reunion with her birth father since 2012. Recently, Dr. Topfer offered to answer some of our questions about PACER’s impressive history, accomplishments, and offerings for fellow adoptees.

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Secret Sons & Daughters: When PACER was founded in 1979, openly discussing adoption issues was still a bit taboo.  Some thought babies were blank slates who should blend in seamlessly with adoptive families with no desire to search for roots. What were PACER’s first years like and which triad members first embraced the group and its’ ideas?  

Dr. Topfer: You could say openly discussing adoption was a bit taboo, or a lot taboo, at the time! Mental health education, practice, and research about adoption issues was not familiarly known, studied, or talked about. 

For instance, we consider Sorosky, Baran, and Pannor’s seminal book The Adoption Triangle and BJ Lifton’s Lost and Found as being classics in the field but they were actually written the same year that PACER was founded. 

Also, adoption expert Dr. David Brodzinsky was just beginning his research about adoption loss. Before this, the only book written by an adoptee about her experience was The Search for Anna Fisher, a 1973 memoir by ALMA founder Florence Fisher, who blazed the way for open adoption records, search, and reunion. 

This gives us insight about the social atmosphere when Dirck Brown and his colleagues launched PACER. Basically, there were still a lot of unknowns and gross misperceptions about adoption triad/constellation members’ experiences. 

Surprisingly, however, the first and largest group of members who embraced PACER was adoptive parents. They were extremely influential in obtaining large funding, grants, and sponsorships. Dr. Joe Davis, a physician from Stanford University Medical Center – and not an adoption triad/constellation member – also embraced PACER and its mission early on. Others were therapists and first/birth mothers.          

Secret Sons & Daughters: Did you get any negative feedback from certain groups? 

Dr. Topfer: No, I have not heard or read any negative comments about PACER from organizations or individuals. In fact, I’ve only heard very positive feedback. 

There may have been negative feedback toward PACER members actively involved in the CA open records movement, though. PACER had not, until recently, committed itself to legislative and lobbying efforts for open records. 

In the past, PACER was afraid they would alienate adoptive parents if they took a public stand against closed records. That has changed, however, since my time as president.  

Secret Sons & Daughters: Are PACER members and participants mostly adoptees or do you have interest from birth and adoptive parents, as well? 

Dr. Topfer:  The majority of our board members are adopted persons. One first/birth mother is a board member. However, we have a large first/birth mother member population, especially in Sacramento. 

Unfortunately, we don’t currently have adoptive parents on the board or any active adoptive parent groups. PACER is interested in changing this and has consulted with NACAC (North American Council on Adoptable Children) about how to reach out to adoptive parents. 

Also, I’ve been soliciting interest from several therapists who are also adoptive parents. Therapist and adoptive parent Nancy Verrier (author of The Primal Wound) is one of them. 

I think the biggest reason adoptive parents have not been involved with PACER is the disparity in experiences between adopted persons, first/birth mothers, and adoptive parents. Adoptive parents have always been the leading force in the adoption industry, as agencies, policy makers, and the media give their experiences more precedence than adopted persons and first/birth mothers. Adopted individuals’ and first/birth mothers’ voices have not been front and center. 

Pacer-Birth Mother stories

PACER has shifted this power dynamic, giving adopted persons and first/birth mothers the support and a forum to express their experiences of loss, anger, guilt, shame, bewilderment, etc. 

Secret Sons & Daughters: What are typical reasons adoptees first contact PACER? Do these reasons vary greatly between men and women? 

Dr. Topfer: The main reasons adoptees first contact PACER are for issues around search and reunion, and a desire to be supported by others who understand their experience. 

I haven’t noticed or heard that these reasons vary greatly between men and women. However, there are more women than men regularly attending our peer-led support groups. 

Secret Sons & Daughters: Can you describe some examples of “breakthrough” or “a-ha” moments for new members seeking support? 

Dr. Topfer: Good question. I don’t know the “breakthrough” moments for other members but I will speak about my own first experience as a PACER member. 

I had attended a PACER adoptee group several times over a two-year span before my breakthrough moment. It took that long because, admittedly, in those first meetings I was intimidated by others who openly shared their search and reunion experiences. 

I was still deep “in the closet” in terms of my search and reunion and exploring my adoptee identity. It wasn’t because I hadn’t searched before; it was because 15 years earlier when I had contacted my first/birth mother, there was not a welcoming response. So, in those first meetings, I didn’t feel I could contribute significantly to the group. 

Now I wonder if other adoptee newcomers have felt similarly? After finally mustering the courage to talk about my adoption – which felt necessary for my own mental health and wellness – at this same time, I attempted to make contact with my first/birth mother again. As I opened up more, the PACER adoptee group felt less intimidating and more helpful. 

As time progressed, I participated in other PACER events and even went to my first American Adoption Congress conference. At that point, I clearly saw the benefits of being with others who had similar feelings and experiences.

Secret Sons & Daughters: What sort of advice or support do you offer for someone who has had an unsuccessful search or rejection from found relatives? 

Dr. Topfer: This has been my experience with my first/birth mother and her family. The best advice and support I can offer is to practice patience and letting go. 

This doesn’t mean giving up – quite the opposite. It means continuing to hope that a connection will develop but not holding on so tightly that other family member opportunities are missed.  

I see this pattern with adoptees: Their first, and usually only, primary focus is on their birth mother. It’s natural to have this sort of tunnel vision because as adoptees we didn’t receive the genetic bond and love from our first/birth mothers, and we desperately needed it! 

Despite the importance of a mother’s bond, however, an adopted person must realize that he/she has two whole entire families with separate members who may be welcoming, warm, and accepting. In fact, it is other family members who are more likely to extend open arms because they don’t have the loss, shame, guilt, and grief of first/birth mothers. 

As I stated, my personal experience included a restricted “birthmom tunnel vision” for years. 

At the first contact attempt, my first/birth mother screamed and yelled at me. She was in hysterics. This scared me off for another 15 years but I still thought about her often. 

Then, during a therapy session one day, it struck me that I have not only a mother but a father, as well. This felt revolutionary! My therapist was very supportive of my search for him. 

Less than six months after I shifted my attention away from my birth mother, my birth father found me! It’s been two years since we connected and we have a great relationship.

Secret Sons & Daughters: Your site has an excellent, comprehensive list of articles and suggestions for finding an adoption-sensitive therapist. Have you found an increase in the number of mental health professionals that have joined in the belief that adoption has a significant, lifelong, evolving impact on an individual? What type of training is sought by adoption-savvy professionals? 

Dr. Topfer: Thank you. I worked hard on gathering useful articles, videos, and other helpful resources for the website. Many articles are borrowed from C.A.S.E. [Center for Adoption Support and Education, which generously offers free use of information] and other sources. 

In regards to adoption-savvy professionals, I haven’t found a noteworthy increase in mental health professionals and organizations embracing adoption’s significant, lifelong impact. Most therapists recommended on our site have been exploring adoption issues for a while. 

I will add, though, there is increased discussion in the adoption community about adoption competency for professionals. It’s slowly trickling into mainstream mental health. The Donaldson Institute recently released a report about the “Need to Know – Competency in Adoption Therapists” and the APA has an Adoption Practice and Counseling Special Interest Group (SIG). 

A recent California bill proposed that mental health professionals must be certified in adoption competency before obtaining adoption agency referrals. Unfortunately, the bill was gutted and now only states the need for training. Overall, these factors indicate the need for adoption competency is on the minds of professionals aware of adoption’s complexities. 

Regarding training for adoption-savvy professionals; what I do know is that trauma-informed therapy is becoming the standard focus of treatment for not just adults but for children. 

Adoption-sensitive professionals understand the aspects of trauma in adopted and foster children. They acknowledge long-term trauma caused by closed records in adopted adults, too. This opens up different modalities that a practitioner can use to help achieve levels of healing and development—neurological and neurobiological, attachment-focused, somatic, mindfulness, transpersonal, etc. 

In this sense, adoption-savvy professionals perhaps will seek trainings that are trauma-informed, empirical, and experiential. 

Secret Sons & Daughters: Do you have unique support options for individuals affected by various types of adoptions – infant, older/foster child, international, open vs. closed? 

Dr. Topfer: No, not specifically, although we know our group members do have a wide range of adoption experiences. 

We do see the need for more specialized groups, including “professionally-led” meetings, which we hope to start in fall of 2014. They will be facilitated by a professional, be fee-based, closed, and scheduled for a specific amount of time. 

Our current groups are peer-led, drop-in, open, and not fee-based. During professionally-led groups, members will be able to explore their adoption experiences more intimately in a small group.  

Secret Sons & Daughters: What do you think the future holds for open records laws within states and perhaps on a national level?

Dr. Topfer: The trend has been for states to finally open records but with conditions – a waiting period in which a first/birth mother can opt out of contact. Ohio, Illinois, and New Jersey have unconditional vetoes in place. Maine, Oregon, and Alabama do not have vetoes. 

PACER does not have an official stance yet on conditional or unconditional records but we lean toward no compromises and no vetoes. 

A representative from CalOpen, the leading open access organization in California, recently stated: “States that have passed conditional bills are ruining other states’ chances of passing unconditional open access bills. They are unfortunately sending a message that it’s fine for some adoptees to have access but not all; ultimately, that is not okay!”

PACER California access

Personally, I lean toward an unconditional access bill. I used to agree it was okay if some adoptees’ OBCs were sacrificed if the majority got theirs. The compromise seemed acceptable – until I realized my own first/birth mother could redact my OBC, despite Ohio’s recently passed open access bill. 

I was born in Ohio and supportive of the bill (am still partially supportive), but when I read that my birth mother could take away what is truly mine, my heart sank. Those who act too quickly to put conditions on open access bills have not looked deeply enough into this dilemma.

Secret Sons & Daughters:  If you would like to learn more about PACER, visit their comprehensive site: pacer-adoption.org. 

Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resources, discover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

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Concerned United Birthparents Offers Insight and Support

Tuesday, June 24th, 2014

In 1975, a Massachusetts birthmother named Lee Campbell attended an adoptee support group with a few other birthmothers. As she listened to adoptees swap stories, she wondered if mothers who had surrendered children for adoption might benefit from separate discussions about their experiences. The other mothers she’d met agreed.  In the year that followed, Concerned United Birthparents (CUB) held their first meeting at (ironically) The Church of the Immaculate Conception on Cape Cod, and incorporated a few months later. During CUB’s first eight years of operation, they answered 45,000 letters, half of which were from adoptees, many of whom were testing the waters on meeting a birthparent. Keep in mind, this was the late 70s/early 80s when most adoptees didn’t think reunions were possible, let alone a socially acceptable option.

Today, CUB is a national organization, a recognized voice for birthparents, and a valuable support resource. In addition, they’re a major resource for adoption reform history and have supplied Harvard’s Schlesinger Library with over 10,000 pages of CUB history.

This old Phil Donahue clip—which includes an interview with Lee Campbell—is a first hand look at that history and the heated early conversations on reunions, searches, pressure to relinquish, and whether an adopted person should have a right to his or her history. I’ll warn you, from about minute 21 on, it’s disconcerting to see that for as much as things have changed, we still have a ways to go.

I had an opportunity to talk with Patty Collings, CUB’s current President (and a birthmother herself), about CUB’s evolution over almost four decades and what they offer today, especially for adult adoptees. 

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS:  When did CUB decide to open meetings to others impacted by adoption and what prompted that change?

PATTY: Early on, when meetings were limited to the greater Boston area, CUB’s mission was to create a safe place for birthmothers to discuss their surrenders. Early members developed a birthparent manual of sorts, exploring issues such as searching or not searching; following their children’s lives from a distance or making contact; and how to make a comfortable niche for themselves after reunion, however that turned out. Initially, there was also an active adoptee group in the Boston area with whom we shared a few meetings.

That all changed as CUB grew to better understand birthparenthood and began to open branches across the country, especially in places where there were no active adoptee groups. Today, attendance at a typical meeting is split almost evenly between adoptees and birthparents.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Why might someone attend a CUB meeting?

PATTY:  I’ll never forget one of the first meetings I attended. There was an adoptee in her reunion’s early stages. I’ll call her Carol. She told the group that her birthmother, Susan, had said something that upset her very much and continued to bother her whenever she thought about it. Susan had said: “When I first held you, I just thought you were too perfect for me to keep, so I had to give you up.” Carol felt those words as cold and uncaring, and she felt very hurt by them.  

Another birthmom at the meeting told Carol that what Susan said resonated with her. She said she knew that feeling of shame and unworthiness, and that she too had felt unfit to raise a child as an unwed mother. This other birthmom explained that Susan might have thought that her daughter was so precious, so much better than her that she deserved a better mother, a better person to be her parent. 

In the months that followed, Carol told us that what she heard in that meeting helped her to feel better whenever her mother’s words popped in her mind, and she didn’t dwell on them as much anymore. I still get choked up each time I remember that meeting and how Carol’s face softened.

That experience is something we see again and again—adoptees have an opportunity to get a better understanding of their own birthparents by listening to other birthparents talk, and it goes the other way too. Birthparents gain an understanding of what their children might be experiencing when they can hear from other adoptees. And it seems easier to take in such points of view when it comes from someone unrelated yet very familiar with the experience.

We believe this is our most important service, providing emotional support and meeting people wherever they are in their journey. Sometimes it is an adoptee struggling post-reunion, sometimes it’s a birthmother grappling with an open adoption that closed, and other times it might be a birthparent or adoptee wondering if they have a right to search. 

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Can you describe a realization, or break-through of sorts, that might happen at a meeting?

PATTY:  We often hear adoptees who are searching say they believe their birthparents don’t think about them, aren’t looking for them, and don’t want to find them, let alone be found. They’ll assume this because the birthparent has not registered with any of the mutual consent registries. They are often surprised to hear birthparents in the group explain that they were unaware of the registries, and/or that they were told by the adoption agencies that they must never interfere, never intrude on their child and the family who adopted them. So many of us were told this would be very disruptive, and that, for all we knew, our child didn’t know about his or her adoption. 

It’s one thing to read this in a book or online, but when birthparents are face to face with adoptees and talk about how they have thought about their child every day, wondered if they were safe and happy, and how they think about that child every birthday – boy do we ever think about them on their birthdays—it has a different kind of impact.

I feel confident saying that the vast majority of birthparents want to be found. There’s an interesting statistic in Jean Strauss’ film about Illinois’ recent open records law, A Simple Piece of Paper: since the records opened, more than 8,000 requests for original birth certificates have been filed. Of that 8,000, only 47 birthparents asked to have their name withheld.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: What advice do you offer someone who has experienced rejection from his or her biological relatives?

PATTY:  A birthparent who refuses contact with his or her child is the most distressing situation. My personal belief is that we owe it to our children to be open to a relationship and to give them whatever information they ask for. This may include the identity of the birthfather (and his contact information if we have it). They have the right to know who they are and where they came from, their birth story, the first chapter of their lives.  

Adoptees typically search for their mothers first. Birthmothers who initially refuse, but later agree to contact, often describe feeling shock after being found. This is often because being an “unwed mother” might be a long-held secret, and the shameful memories so painful that they have coped by keeping feelings deeply buried. They also anticipate that they’ll be shamed and rejected by their friends and family when the truth comes out.  For some mothers who have gone through this, it took years to process these feelings before they were ready for a relationship.  

So when a birthparent says “no,” it might not mean never, it might just mean not now.  If an adoptee has contact information, I encourage him or her to reach out again after some time has passed, and at some point, also consider searching for siblings and other relatives.

If an agency is involved and will not release information because the birthparent withholds consent, an adoptee might consider contacting a search angel or private investigator, or sign up for registries and DNA matching services. These avenues can help someone discover a sibling, aunt, uncle, or even a grandparent who is open to a relationship.  

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: I’ve noticed that terminology can be a real hot button. For example, whether to refer to a mother as “birthmother,” “first mother,” or some other term, and I know there are language challenges for mothers as well. How is that handled in meetings?

PATTY:  There are no rules other than people can use whatever terminology works best, whether that is “I placed my child for adoption,” “I relinquished my child,” “birthmother,” “first mother”—whatever works for the person trying to share his or her experience. The goal is to support someone wherever they are in the process. 

Our founder, Lee Campbell, considered several names when she was establishing CUB—the first organization to support and advocate for mothers who had lost their children to adoption. This video details the word “birthparents” inspiration and Lee’s thought process as she considered commonly used terms at the time — first, natural, biological, genetic—and then decided on “birthparent, birthmother,” as one word, like grandparent. It was a label she hoped would unite mothers of adoption loss. The rest of the title for what Lee called her “unique band of sisters” came easy after that. Lee adds: “I envisioned us birthmothers ‘united’ in our ‘concern’ about our children, and that’s how “Concerned United Birthparents” fell into place.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Tell me a little bit about fathers—did birthfathers attend in those early years, and has their participation changed over the years?

PATTY: Fathers matter, and we have long invited their participation.  Our birthfather membership is lower than birthmothers, but we know that many men may not even be aware they have a child, or that the child was given up for adoption.  Also, we have heard from fathers who, years after walking away from their partner’s unplanned pregnancy, realize that they feel shame too. 

On a separate note, the recent focus on illegal adoption lawsuits filed by Utah attorney Wes Hutchins on behalf of birthfathers whose children were adopted without their knowledge or consent, or under fraudulent circumstances, may encourage even more fathers to come forward.  We encourage them to join us. 

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS:  Do meetings also focus on helping adoptees and birthparents search for one another?

PATTY:  I joined another group, ALMA (Adoptees Liberty Movement Association) in 1997.  I joined CUB in 2001. ALMA is more focused on advising people how to search, and on forwarding open records legislation. In addition, they also maintain a mutual consent registry for birthparents and adult adoptees. While CUB supports these registries and legislative efforts and shares search resources, our primary focus is support and awareness.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: What geographic areas can someone find a CUB support group and roughly how many people attend a typical meeting?

PATTY: We’ve found that the in person connection is invaluable.  It can be very comforting to sit and talk with others who really “get you.” And we have all benefited from hearing how others cope with ongoing searches, rough reunions, rejection, finding a grave, and learning to deal with some family members who suggest we just “get over it” and “move on with our lives.”

Several California cities have active members, including groups in Los Angeles, Orange County, and San Diego north and south groups. In addition to California, there are groups in Boston, Minneapolis, Portland, Washington, D.C. and Lakeland, Fl. The meeting size varies anywhere from 7-20 participants (usually in California). Our meetings in Lakeland, Florida typically have 3-10 people. We also have a younger cohort of birthmoms that meet online via Google Hangouts.

In addition, members who are not close to a local group have found support through our newsletters as well as emails and phone calls with CUB members.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Any other in person opportunities, especially for those that don’t live near a CUB group?

CUB Retreat Banquet

CUB Retreat Banquet

PATTY: We host an annual retreat, usually at a hotel near a beach, bay, or a lake so that the environment is ideal for reflection between sessions. The schedule is not packed with multiple sessions that run simultaneously. Instead, we focus on a core program. This year’s conference will be near Tampa, in Safety Harbor, Florida, Oct. 17-19, and feature a panel on Found Adoptees, several experts on an Open Adoption panel geared to younger birthmoms who are contending with open adoptions that closed, and a panel of three (two birthmothers and an adoptee) involved in family preservation work, finding resources and support to enable expectant mothers and fathers to parent their children. We also plan to have a representative from the Philomena Project. 

___

For more information on CUB and upcoming conference details, visit Concerned United Birthparents.

Thanks for visiting our online community. You can find other organizations making a difference, read adoptee stories, discover your rights to your original birth certificate, and join the discussion by adding your thoughts (below) or on our Facebook page.

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A California Secret Son Finds his Birth Mother

Saturday, May 3rd, 2014

Jason Clawson recounts his early years with his adoptive parents and how he met his birth/first mother.

In 1972 my first grade teacher threatened to call my mother if I continued to tell her and my classmates that I was adopted.  She thought that I couldn’t be adopted because I couldn’t explain what “adopted” meant.  When I insisted that my mom had told me I was adopted, my teacher called her during class playtime. After several minutes, my teacher hung up, walked over, gave me a hug, and apologized for not believing me.

I don’t remember the day I grasped the full meaning of adoption. I knew I was loved, and how I arrived to my family didn’t really matter to me. I was where I was supposed to be.

My parents lived in Downey, California and had tried unsuccessfully to have children for five years. They had discussed adoption but originally neither was in favor of it. Then one evening, a friend from my parents’ church called and said there was a newborn boy in San Diego available for adoption. “Are you interested?” he asked. Perhaps if my father had taken the call I would have ended up elsewhere, but fortunately my mother answered the phone that night, and immediately replied: “We’ll take him!”  A few days later, my parents met my birth mother, Sandy, and me.

Sandy lived in Phoenix, Arizona. At age 18, she unexpectedly found herself in a family-way.  Her parents couldn’t believe their daughter had shamed their family by getting pregnant. Her father threw a chair at her. Sandy’s parents sent her to San Diego to live with her older brother and his wife. The plan was that she’d deliver me, then give me up for adoption. She didn’t hear from her parents once during her time in San Diego. She had signed an agreement with an adoption agency and the agency had selected a family.

After I was born, however, Sandy rescinded the agreement and decided to do the one motherly act remaining to her—find the right family and give me to them herself. I’ve since learned, Sandy’s decision did not ingratiate her to the hospital staff or adoption agency.  They became quite hostile and tried to coerce her to sign the adoption agreement.

Nevertheless, about two weeks after my birth, my soon-to-be parents Jim and Jeannette, drove from Downey to San Diego only days after receiving their friend’s call.  They had no crib, no diapers, no clothes, no formula—nothing.  Now that I have children of my own, it’s difficult to imagine two people less prepared to receive a baby.

As Sandy spoke with my parents, they learned that my birth father, “Milt,” had denied fathering me and wanted nothing to do with me.  After a time, and apparently pre-assured by her attorney’s vetting of my parents, Sandy handed me to my mother and told her, “I believe you’re the couple that should have my baby.”  On that day, Jim and Jeannette became my parents. They drove back to Downey, me in my new mother’s arms.

With news spreading that a third passenger was on the return trip, my grandmothers sprang into action, buying bottles, diapers, blankets and clothes. Still, not everything was in place for my arrival. I spent the first weeks sleeping in a dresser drawer.

Three baby showers later, and my parents were well stocked and learning about their new son. My mother’s pregnancy cut that time short though. My sister Courtney joined the family ten months after my birth.  Since Courtney and I were similar in size, and both had blonde hair and blue eyes, many thought we were twins. I like to think that my arrival opened the way for Courtney, and for my sister Brooke, and brother Brett.  Had Courtney’s journey into the family started two weeks earlier, I would be living somewhere else with a different life and a different name. Thank you for waiting, Court.

Sometimes I look at my ten-year-old son and know exactly what he’s thinking because in many ways he’s like me.  My parents weren’t afforded that and now that I’m a parent myself I wonder if they had an easier time connecting with my sisters and brother. Similarities or not though, I always knew that I was loved.

I had a normal childhood. I made friends, got along with my sisters and brother, and tended to be protective of them. Occasionally, I pointed out to my sisters that they shared Mom’s genes and were destined to turn out just like her.  It’s remarkable what an insult that can be to sisters.

Not knowing anything about my own genes and heritage allowed me to be the descendent of whatever my imagination could conjure. Before I met Sandy, I thought it would be nice if she knew that I’d turned out okay and that she’d made the right decision. Not surprisingly, I never had any interest in knowing Milt.

As I grew into adulthood, I was reminded that I was adopted each time someone remarked how much I looked like my father. Indeed, most people thought I looked more like my parents than my siblings. I’ve often thought that it’s amazing that an entire family can find ways to resemble the adopted child. Even my personality was often compared to my personable Grandpa Delwin, a US Congressman.

I married in my mid 30’s and my wife and I had a son 14-months later.  It was when, to my complete surprise, our marriage abruptly ended that I began to think about Sandy. When you go through a divorce that you didn’t see coming, there are a few ways you can react. I’d witnessed several unproductive reactions through the divorces of close friends. I decided I needed a positive outlet and distraction, so I began researching my adoptive family’s genealogy.  It turned out that much of it had been completed. The only way I was going to distract myself with a genealogy project was if worked on my biological family’s tree. I was ready for the journey. First step: find Sandy.

My parents were supportive. My mother gave me the name of the hospital where I was born. I knew the name I’d been given at birth, my birth date, and I knew Sandy’s maiden name.  I hired Colleen, who specializes in California adoption searches. I sent her the information. Ten days later, Colleen had located Sandy.  Sandy was married and living in Bellingham, Washington.

On March 16, 2006, I sent Sandy a letter via FedEx, which required signature confirmation.

Dear Sandra,

I hope you’re sitting.  Perhaps for some time you’ve wondered if you’d ever hear from me.  On September 2, 1967, I was born in a San Diego hospital and named Steven Grant Meyer. I have reason to believe that you are my birth mother.  I hope that you are, because I have so much that I’d like to share with you.

Most importantly, know that I love you and that you made the right decision in giving me to my mother and father.  They have showered me with love and if my mom’s story is correct, that you felt that they were the couple that was meant to receive your son, know that you were absolutely right.  If this is the only communication we have, let this letter comfort you in that knowledge.

Because part of me comes from you, I’m certain that this letter is bringing back a flood of memories.  My parents never hid from me the circumstances of your situation and I have never, ever questioned your choice.  To the contrary, I have been forever thankful…

The letter ended with my contact information. Perhaps most adopted children are forced to face the many different ways sending a letter to a biological parent may play out. I wanted to be careful not to upset whatever life Sandy had. I knew she was married, but didn’t know if her husband knew of me. I had no fear of rejection because I viewed finding Sandy as a possible bonus to my life and perhaps comfort to hers. I’ve found that adopted girls seem to have a greater desire to understand the “whys” of having been placed for adoption than do boys.

A day later, the online FedEx confirmation read “Delivered.” Two weeks went by with no reply. I figured the letter might have gone to the wrong Sandy, or it made it to the correct Sandy and she either didn’t want contact, or she didn’t know how to reply. It turned out to be none of those reasons.

Sandy had been on vacation when the delivery person left the envelope on her porch. Sandy and her husband, David, had gone through the mail and left it on the table thinking it was from a salesperson. I’d addressed it to “Sandra,” not knowing that she went by “Sandy.”  She finally read it. She told me that she gasped when she read the letter, and David asked if she was okay. Rather than answer him, she re-read the letter and then silently handed it to David. The next day, Sandy sent me an e-mail reply: “Dear Jason, yes I am your birth mother…”

Image credit: photo provided by author.

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Making Sense of Fantasy and Reality

Monday, February 3rd, 2014

Divided loyalties, unforeseen consequences, joy, loss—California daughter, Kendra Crookston, discovers that reunions have many seasons. 

As a child, I spent much of my time wondering about my origins. Initially, I perceived myself as quite different from my parents. My mom and dad were, and still are, disciplined, conservative, and heavily involved in local politics. On the other hand, I was an oddball—free-spirited and with a wish to never conform.

Through those years, I recall feeling badly for my mom and dad because they could not conceive a child of their own. They are both smart and generous, and I grieved because they could not create a biological person to take after them.

Perhaps my sadness had stemmed from a belief that I paled in comparison to that imagined child. I think he/she would have been a math whiz, someone who knew the value of a dollar, and a good decision maker. As I type here, the tears run down my face. I longed for them to have the child I thought they deserved.

My parents, however, always described my adoption as a blessing. They provided very few stipulations to the adoption agency, and had waited years to become my mom and dad.

All in all, I had a happy childhood. I was close to my many cousins and they accepted me for me.  My parents referred to me as “traveller”—a child who had never met a stranger.

As I matured, I talked to my parents about everything except strong feelings. They never fought, nor did they seem to share their feelings with one another, so I was unaware if they were ever ill, hurt, or sad. Therefore, I had plenty of room for fantasizing. I wondered who my birth family was, and who I really was.  My mind spun a patchwork of romantic and catastrophic possibilities.

I only knew that I had been born in California, and placed with my adoptive parents in Ohio. Why Ohio?

I remember wondering if my birth mother was a movie star (I was from California after all), and on the bad days I imagined I came from a family who couldn’t care for me. My parents always joked that I had crawled from California to Ohio as an infant. It took decades before I would uncover the truth of that trek.

The few times I mentioned searching for my birth family to my parents, they said they’d help me when the timing was right. I was twenty-one years old, living on campus, and about to graduate from an Ohio college with a useless degree in the study of people when I was finally ready. My parents and I went to a restaurant and discussed the cost of a search. They offered to split the bill.

With the help of Adoption Network Cleveland, I hired a private investigator. In three days, the investigator located my birth mother by combing through California voting records.  Being the impulsive person that I am, I immediately called the given number.

After a few rings, a woman answered. “I’m one of Karen’s high school friends.” I stuttered and lied.

“Karen doesn’t need any old friends,” the voice replied and then abruptly hung up.

I sat befuddled, staring at the receiver. A few minutes later, my roommate and longtime friend poured me a glass of champagne. I called again and nervously said, “Um, I’m Karen’s daughter.”

The woman sighed, “Oh, you must be Shannon.” Hearing the sound of my original name hit me hard. I had never heard it before. Numbness swept through my body, followed by an odd combination of excitement and panic, which was all the more heightened because of the woman—who was this woman? She didn’t sound pleased.

She rambled about some birth sister having a baby, and said she’d try to get in touch with someone. Finally, I realized I was speaking to my birth mother’s abusive ex-husband’s new wife. Maybe that’s why she was abrupt.

Hours later, my phone rang. For the remainder of the night, I spoke with my birth mother and birth sister, Chantel, who had been born three years after me.

The following day, I boarded a plane to California. My birth mother paid close to $2,500.00 for that flight. The experience was breathtakingly exciting! I arrived at the John Wayne airport in the evening and exited the jetway. I scanned the crowd and immediately spotted my birth mother who was visibly shaking as she stood beside a man I assumed was her new husband. She had my same skin tone, blond hair, and blue eyes. One of my many childhood fantasies had just come to life—that burning desire to scan a crowd of strangers and lock eyes with the woman who had created me.

Meeting her had an immediate grounding effect on me. I felt newly tethered to the plane. On that first night, I slept on the living room floor, curled right up next to my birth mother. I cannot imagine doing that with any other stranger. We have similar body types, which I later learned included feet that are shaped like hands. When I look into her eyes, I see a familiar person—a feeling that is truly difficult to describe.

Our courtship continued after I returned to Ohio. Six months later, I moved to California. It seemed natural to move across the country to get to know her better. In retrospect, my parents must have been horrified. The day I departed, my dad helped me pack my car. I remember him standing in the driveway of my childhood home and smiling. He said, “So, if this doesn’t work out, I’ll fly to California, and we’ll drive your car through Vegas on the way home. We’ll play some slots.” I laughed.

When I arrived in California for the second time, I discovered a family in transition. We spent the first three days in and out of the Pediatric ICU with my birth sister and her son. When not at the hospital, my birth mother and I studied each other. Soon after my arrival, my birth mother experienced flashbacks to the early months after I was born. She started to call me “Shannon,” the name she’d given me. My birth sister didn’t know what to make of me, and went about her routine as though I had never appeared. I spent much of my time alone.

Three weeks later, I took my father up on his offer. He drove us home, while I slept and cried, only stopping for food and to play the slots.

My birth family and I hurt after I left. For the next several years, we didn’t speak to each other. I tried to put the entire experience behind me and move on. I got married, bought a home and had a child—all without ever telling them.

It wasn’t until I reunited with my birth father seven years later, that I encountered them again. During the initial search for my birth family, I had registered with Ancestry.com. A member of my birth father’s family saw my post and connected me to him.

This time I was more cautious. My birth father and I spoke briefly on the phone. My husband and I made flight arrangements, and once again, I was en route to California.

My birth father’s daughter, Tracy, met me at our hotel. She brought me a mix tape and a beer. We bonded instantly. Had the tables been turned, I would’ve brought the same things. I think she is the funniest person that I have ever met.

Tracy, like Chantal, was born three years after me. My birth parents had both moved on to other relationships. He got married for the first time (to another woman) and together they had my brothers, Christopher and Ryan. Christopher and Ryan are half Chinese. Of all my father’s children, I resemble him the most.

I remained guarded around my birth father, but I appreciated him. He is affable, direct, introspective, and able to articulate his feelings well. He has an innate insight about other people. He had been on his own since age 15. His immediately familiar gestures upset me, though, so I focused more on my siblings.

During that first visit with my birth father, I saw my birth mother again. We went to dinner together. I hadn’t seen her in years. The meal was awkward. My birth mother made her desire to reconnect with my birth father a little too obvious. His wife was well aware of these advances. Dinner was tense, to say the least, and our estrangement continued for another eight years.

Before I returned to Ohio, my birth father told me he thought I’d inherited many of his traits. I had a hard time accepting his attributions, because if I accepted them, I thought it would in some way minimize the beautiful people that had raised me.

To this day, I visit my birth father regularly. I treasure those visits and my children have enjoyed knowing him, too.

Recently, I contacted my birth mother. She’s living in Maui with her sister after a stint in rehab for substance abuse. I try to put the past behind us and encourage her through her fragility. I also try not to read into the mystical texts that pop up on my phone from her, and instead acknowledge that while she grapples with mental health issues, she is an incredibly spiritual, perpetually optimistic, and Bohemian-like woman.

After all this time of collecting pieces of my story, I understand the circumstances better. My birth parents were minors when I was born. For six months they tried to raise me while living on friends’ couches and in their cars, until they realized they were unable to raise a baby together. As an infant, my birth mother once threw me across the room. She knew then what she had to do to save me and herself. I thanked her for making such a selfless decision.

My birth parents headed for Ohio after a few Los Angeles adoption encounters where people offered to buy me. That was one horrifying scenario I’d never imagined. Having been raised in Ohio, they returned to place me with a reputable agency. The day they signed the surrender papers they boarded a Greyhound bus back to California.

After all these years, some of my greatest blessings are my siblings. I am the oldest of five. My two brothers and two sisters share uncanny similarities with me: the same dark sense of humor, same sense of honor, and same sense of friendship. It’s better than anything I could have hoped for. They call me “sister” and it’s music to my ears.

I remain close with my mom and dad. They’ve been supportive to this day. My mom watches my kids daily. Whenever I leave my parents, I get a little sick to my stomach. Perhaps it’s some odd form of separation anxiety. I now know that they enjoy me for who I am.

A reunion’s reality is often quite different from the media’s portrayal. I have had some of the most joyous, authentic moments with my bloodline. However, I have also experienced some of the most devastating feelings of loss and disappointment, too. I strive to find a place in my head and heart for everyone. I still wrestle with divided loyalties and uncertainties at nearly every turn.

When I reflect on all we’ve been through, I see that reunions are lifelong and have many seasons.

Image: Kendra with her adoptive dad, Ken.

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California Adoptee Finds His First Mother

Friday, January 31st, 2014

In this Secret Son story, Jason Clawson recounts his early years with his adoptive parents, and how he met his birth/first mother.

—

In 1972 my first grade teacher threatened to call my mother if I continued to tell her and my classmates that I was adopted.  She thought that I couldn’t be adopted because I couldn’t explain what “adopted” meant.  When I insisted that my mom had told me I was adopted, my teacher called her during class playtime. After several minutes, my teacher hung up, walked over, gave me a hug, and apologized for not believing me.

I don’t remember the day I grasped the full meaning of adoption. I knew I was loved, and how I arrived to my family didn’t really matter to me. I was where I was supposed to be.

My parents lived in Downey, California and had tried unsuccessfully to have children for five years. They had discussed adoption but originally neither was in favor of it. Then one evening, a friend from my parents’ church called and said there was a newborn boy in San Diego available for adoption. “Are you interested?” he asked. Perhaps if my father had taken the call I would have ended up elsewhere, but fortunately my mother answered the phone that night, and immediately replied: “We’ll take him!”  A few days later, my parents met my birth mother, Sandy, and me.

Sandy lived in Phoenix, Arizona. At age 18, she unexpectedly found herself in a family-way.  Her parents couldn’t believe their daughter had shamed their family by getting pregnant. Her father threw a chair at her. Sandy’s parents sent her to San Diego to live with her older brother and his wife. The plan was that she’d deliver me, then give me up for adoption. She didn’t hear from her parents once during her time in San Diego. She had signed an agreement with an adoption agency and the agency had selected a family.

After I was born, however, Sandy rescinded the agreement and decided to do the one motherly act remaining to her—find the right family and give me to them herself. I’ve since learned, Sandy’s decision did not ingratiate her to the hospital staff or adoption agency.  They became quite hostile and tried to coerce her to sign the adoption agreement.

Nevertheless, about two weeks after my birth, my soon-to-be parents Jim and Jeannette, drove from Downey to San Diego only days after receiving their friend’s call.  They had no crib, no diapers, no clothes, no formula—nothing.  Now that I have children of my own, it’s difficult to imagine two people less prepared to receive a baby.

As Sandy spoke with my parents, they learned that my birth father, “Milt,” had denied fathering me and wanted nothing to do with me.  After a time, and apparently pre-assured by her attorney’s vetting of my parents, Sandy handed me to my mother and told her, “I believe you’re the couple that should have my baby.”  On that day, Jim and Jeannette became my parents. They drove back to Downey, me in my new mother’s arms.

With news spreading that a third passenger was on the return trip, my grandmothers sprang into action, buying bottles, diapers, blankets and clothes. Still, not everything was in place for my arrival. I spent the first weeks sleeping in a dresser drawer.

Three baby showers later, and my parents were well stocked and learning about their new son. My mother’s pregnancy cut that time short though. My sister Courtney joined the family ten months after my birth.  Since Courtney and I were similar in size, and both had blonde hair and blue eyes, many thought we were twins. I like to think that my arrival opened the way for Courtney, and for my sister Brooke, and brother Brett.  Had Courtney’s journey into the family started two weeks earlier, I would be living somewhere else with a different life and a different name. Thank you for waiting, Court.

Sometimes I look at my ten-year-old son and know exactly what he’s thinking because in many ways he’s like me.  My parents weren’t afforded that and now that I’m a parent myself I wonder if they had an easier time connecting with my sisters and brother. Similarities or not though, I always knew that I was loved.

I had a normal childhood. I made friends, got along with my sisters and brother, and tended to be protective of them. Occasionally, I pointed out to my sisters that they shared Mom’s genes and were destined to turn out just like her.  It’s remarkable what an insult that can be to sisters.

Not knowing anything about my own genes and heritage allowed me to be the descendent of whatever my imagination could conjure. Before I met Sandy, I thought it would be nice if she knew that I’d turned out okay and that she’d made the right decision. Not surprisingly, I never had any interest in knowing Milt.

As I grew into adulthood, I was reminded that I was adopted each time someone remarked how much I looked like my father. Indeed, most people thought I looked more like my parents than my siblings. I’ve often thought that it’s amazing that an entire family can find ways to resemble the adopted child. Even my personality was often compared to my personable Grandpa Delwin, a US Congressman.

I married in my mid 30’s and my wife and I had a son 14-months later.  It was when, to my complete surprise, our marriage abruptly ended that I began to think about Sandy. When you go through a divorce that you didn’t see coming, there are a few ways you can react. I’d witnessed several unproductive reactions through the divorces of close friends. I decided I needed a positive outlet and distraction, so I began researching my adoptive family’s genealogy.  It turned out that much of it had been completed. The only way I was going to distract myself with a genealogy project was if worked on my biological family’s tree. I was ready for the journey. First step: find Sandy.

My parents were supportive. My mother gave me the name of the hospital where I was born. I knew the name I’d been given at birth, my birth date, and I knew Sandy’s maiden name.  I hired Colleen, who specializes in California adoption searches. I sent her the information. Ten days later, Colleen had located Sandy.  Sandy was married and living in Bellingham, Washington.

On March 16, 2006, I sent Sandy a letter via FedEx, which required signature confirmation.

“Dear Sandra,

 I hope you’re sitting.  Perhaps for some time you’ve wondered if you’d ever hear from me.  On September 2, 1967, I was born in a San Diego hospital and named Steven Grant Meyer. I have reason to believe that you are my birth mother.  I hope that you are, because I have so much that I’d like to share with you.

 Most importantly, know that I love you and that you made the right decision in giving me to my mother and father.  They have showered me with love and if my mom’s story is correct, that you felt that they were the couple that was meant to receive your son, know that you were absolutely right.  If this is the only communication we have, let this letter comfort you in that knowledge.

 Because part of me comes from you, I’m certain that this letter is bringing back a flood of memories.  My parents never hid from me the circumstances of your situation and I have never, ever questioned your choice.  To the contrary, I have been forever thankful…”

The letter ended with my contact information. Perhaps most adopted children are forced to face the many different ways sending a letter to a biological parent may play out. I wanted to be careful not to upset whatever life Sandy had. I knew she was married, but didn’t know if her husband knew of me. I had no fear of rejection because I viewed finding Sandy as a possible bonus to my life and perhaps comfort to hers. I’ve found that adopted girls seem to have a greater desire to understand the “whys” of having been placed for adoption than do boys.

A day later, the online FedEx confirmation read “Delivered.” Two weeks went by with no reply. I figured the letter might have gone to the wrong Sandy, or it made it to the correct Sandy and she either didn’t want contact, or she didn’t know how to reply. It turned out to be none of those reasons.

Sandy had been on vacation when the delivery person left the envelope on her porch. Sandy and her husband, David, had gone through the mail and left it on the table thinking it was from a salesperson. I’d addressed it to “Sandra,” not knowing that she went by “Sandy.”  She finally read it. She told me that she gasped when she read the letter, and David asked if she was okay. Rather than answer him, she re-read the letter and then silently handed it to David. The next day, Sandy sent me an e-mail reply: “Dear Jason, yes I am your birth mother…”

Photo provided by Jason Clawson.

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