Reunion, Part I

The day after I sent the message to my brother, A, on Facebook, I received an e-mail from his wife. 

Hi K,

You have sent a few emails to my husband A about possibly being his half-sister.  We have both spoken to C [my fmom] about this and she denies having another child.  Maybe she just doesn’t want to admit it or she is not your birth mother.  Either way, I would like to know a little more about you.  How did you find out about A?  Do you have a picture of yourself you could share with us?  I know you saw our family photo on facebook, does A look anything like you (he looks a lot like his father)?  A is really bothered by this whole thing and is not sure what to believe so I am trying to find some more information for him.  Thanks and I hope to hear from you soon.

T

Here are our subsequent exchanges:

Dear T,

First of all, many, many thanks for being willing to talk with me. I understand that this is all very strange to you and A, and must seem that it comes out of the blue. I deeply regret causing A and C any discomfort, but this is something terribly important to me. I have been been searching for my family for 12 years, and my adoptive parents are aware and supportive of my search.

I was adopted in Missouri through an agency. If an adoptee searches through formal channels in Missouri, a confidential intermediary system is used. I went through this system; the intermediary twice approached C: once in 2000 and once in 2008. Both times, she was willing to provide limited medical information but nothing else. I did find out that I had a brother, five years younger than I am. This summer with the help of other searchers, I was able to find a match between my information, which included my name "Baby Girl Newman," and the family of W.N. Newman. I am attaching copies of my non-identifying information for you to read; they include a sketch of a family tree because of the spherocytosis. As I mentioned in my first e-mail to A, I have hereditary spherocytosis, which is an added layer of concern (my elder son has it, too) but also of identification. I found out about A from W.N. Newman's obituary, which mentioned C.

I would say that I resemble A in some ways, although this clearly subjective. I am attaching pictures of me and my family so that you can make your own judgments. We have two young boys and very few pics of us as a family, I'm afraid. I've made my profile on Facebook public so you will have access to those pictures, too. I also found some photographs of W.N. Newman, taken in 1954, online at ancestry.com, and I think I look like him, as well.

I would guess that C is still suffering from the aftereffects of having a baby out of wedlock, which must have been incredibly traumatic. It is easier to forget and deny than live with some truths. I have a friend, another adoptee, also born in 1969, whose birthmother took three years to come to terms with my friend's request for contact. C may never agree to meet me, and I must accept this as a possible outcome. But I am hopeful that she will change her mind and that there are other relatives of mine who might be more open to knowing me. I would love to have contact with A, if and when he is able. Please do not hesitate to ask me for anything, more information, whatever is desired. I would of course agree to a DNA test, if that is something A wants.

Once again, T, I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to contact me. It means the world to me that you are willing to go out on a limb and talk to a stranger. I know this must be very difficult for you, as well.

I am available to talk by e-mail or phone, as you desire. 

With great respect,

K

Hi K,

I shared this information with A last night and he is struggling with what to do next. There are a few details listed in the report you sent that do not exactly match the family history as we know it. I think the best thing to do is give him some time to absorb all that he has learned and decide how to proceed. I do believe he will contact you at some point because he has a hard time letting things go unresolved. I also find myself in a difficult position Because I do not want to cause ripples in our family, but you seem like an honest person just trying to find answers so I will do what I can to help. If he decides not to contact you, I will let you know. 

Sincerely,

T

A few weeks later, It was a typical, chaotic Sunday evening in my home. My two sons were distracted from dinner by a thousand things, the dog was pacing around the table hoping for handouts, and I was anticipating the nearing hour of bedtime with unconcealed joy. The phone rang. I jumped up, saw an unfamiliar number, felt my heart catch, and whispered, "Hello?"

The honeyed Southern drawl at the other end said "Hello" back. Then, "Is this K? Have I caught you at a bad time?" I knew immediately it was my brother, and my mind began to spin. I signaled to my husband to take over the circus at the table, reassured my brother that it wasn't a bad time, and escaped to a quiet corner. I was hoping that this call signaled his willingness to get to know me. 

We stumbled through niceties and coincidences. He is a physician, I am a nurse; we both have additional advanced degrees; we both are supernerds. It turned out that one of my closest friends from St. Louis was the sister of one of A's college friends in Mississippi. A told me that he thought that the dark, complicated story involving my birth would make a good novel. I felt frightened and hopeful and ecstatic, all at once. I couldn't be sure this was real. I wanted to know everything about him, and ask every question possible, in five minutes. My voice quavered and revealed my nervousness. I admired A for the courage it took to reach out to this sister-stranger, and for his apparent calm. 

My brother brought the conversation back to the reason for his call: "I have to talk to my mom about this. I have to make sense of it. I want to talk to her in person. I am going to be visiting her in a few weeks. I'll let you know what I think after I get back." We said goodbye.

I was more excited than I think I've ever been, but it was back to waiting. Waiting. Waiting. It could be weeks. The answer might be no. I was too afraid to think of it. 

Searching, Part II

In 2008 my hereditary blood condition, hereditary spherocytosis (HS), caused my spleen to enlarge, my hemoglobin to plummet, and I had to have a splenectomy. Shortly after surgery I ended up with a huge clot in the portal vein in my liver. My whole GI shut down, I couldn't eat or drink, and I was in agony. I spent much of the next month in the hospital feeling like an alien with two IV sites, tubing everywhere, four pumps, and a central line into the major blood vessel leading into my heart to feed me. I was wracked by pain, both emotional and physical. One day I Googled "adoption rejection" and discovered a richness of witty, insightful blogs, written by adoptees. I was excited and enthralled, reading and laughing and crying. Amazed to see things I'd always thought coming out of someone else's brain. I commented and reached out, relieved to find a community of like-minded people at last.

Adoptees are a stubborn lot, and I made new friends who are also search angels. Adoptees rarely take "no" for an answer from anyone, let alone a CI, and the angels were helping me search outside of the CI system. I had new hope, and I truly believed that the CI might have been responsible for my first mother's negative reaction. I couldn't be sure of what she'd said to her, or if my first mother even knew anything about me. I couldn't give up. On and off the angels and I searched, using the parameters of my known last name, my grandfather's recent death, and the geographical region. The angels asked if I was sure of the "Neuman" spelling. "Of course," I naively replied. Who would falsify a name on a legal document? Oh yes, my first mother. Yes, she did.

In the summer of 2009, Kinsolving Investigations found my first family in five days; they discovered and reported that I was really a "Newman." I trembled to have my first mother's name, address, and phone number. To know I had a brother. To read about my grandfather's colorful life in his obituary. I finally felt like a human being instead of a mythical creature. 

Subsequent attempts to contact my first mother, by another first mother and then by myself, proved fruitless. My fmom met me with silence, and the first mother with a calm, "No, I don't think I'll ever be interested." Repeated over and over. I felt empty and demoralized. I still didn't count. I was invisible. I decided to e-mail my brother. Silence. A few weeks later, I found him on Facebook, and screamed out loud. He looked so much like me! I wanted to touch the screen and connect with him. I sent him another message, introducing myself and hoping that he'd be open to talking to me. Then I waited. 

Searching, Part I

Searching for me was a process. Getting to the point of deciding to do something took a long time. Having courage and money and support was part of it. I had to be in a place where I knew I wouldn't be shattered if the response was negative. That said, I really wanted to know who I was before I was the me that all my friends and family know. It sounds very complicated, and in some ways it is. I was worried also about hurting my aparents, whom I love with all my heart. I felt disloyal to them by opening up this can of worms. But it was my can of worms, and there was no escaping its presence in the front of my mind. 

I remember finding my Pre-Adoptive Agreement in my aparents' file cabinet, in a manila folder labeled "Adoption," when I was 12. The agreement named me as "Baby Girl Neuman." I had a last name! At least I assumed it was my last name; who would make up "Neuman"? More on that later.  I rolled the name around my brain and imagined being a "Neuman." It gave me something concrete, although it was only a fragment of what I wanted to know. 

Although I always wanted to search, I had neither the time, inclination, or outward push to make it happen until I was in my mid-twenties. For a number of years in the 1990's, I lived in Berkeley, where I was working on a Ph.D. in art history at Cal. One of my housemates was a woman my age who had also been adopted. She was interested in what it meant to be adopted and invited me to go to an adoptee support group with her. We talked about what it meant to be adopted, and I read some foundational books in adoption psychology that began to help me normalize my emotional experiences. I was envious of those who had found their families and seemed to be more at peace with themselves. 

The members of PACER, the support group, encouraged me to write off for my non-identifying information, which I did in 1997 after having to ask my adoptive parents notarize a permission slip to verify that they approved of my desire to search. It was infantilizing to have my wishes and opinions count for nothing. A "no" from my parents would have barred the path forward, but I was relieved when they readily agreed. I paid $75, and two weeks later received six sheets of paper that summarized who I was before my parents brought me home, before I became the person attached to my aparents and my family. When I began my first reinvention of self at the ripe old age of 10 weeks. I read the physical descriptions of my first mother, first father, my first mother's parents, and the circumstances of my birth, over and over. I began to give myself permission to imagine who these ghostly people were. I wondered if they ever thought about me. 

I was adopted in a state that in extremely restrictive in terms of adoption laws. Missouri mandates the use of confidential intermediaries (CIs) to make contact. I didn't have the money to pay for this service until several years later, when I was married and more financially stable. I called the court, filled out forms, and waited for the agency to contact me. I wrote a $350 check to the CI, and gave her a letter I wanted her to read to my first parents. Then I waited for what seemed like five interminable months. At last she called me. 

"I don't have good news, I am afraid," the CI said. "Your birthmother would barely speak to me, and just kept repeating, 'I knew this day would come,' and 'I don't want to know.'" I felt all the blood drain from my face. I cried. The CI encouraged me to let move on. "I could try calling her again, but I doubt she'd change her answer. You can try again in three years." "Okay," I answered. I am ever the compliant adoptee. 

Three years went by. Then another five. I had two children. I was sick. Part of my being sick had to do with a hereditary blood disorder that I knew I'd inherited from my first mom, so I screwed up the courage to get back on the searching carousel. I called the court again, filled out the papers, sent off my check for $450. I wrote a new letter for the CI to read to my first parents, and enclosed a detailed medical history questionnaire. Then the painful wait began anew. I called the CI after two months. After four months. 

Five months later, I received an unbelievably cruel letter from the CI, which ended on this lovely note: "It seems like your birth mother has gone to great lengths to make sure she wouldn't be found or contacted again, and I feel it's time to give up all attempts at finding her. I have $81 in out-of-pocket expenses. Please send a check to…" This was unacceptable. I flew into a rage. She had found her eight years ago! What could have happened? And blaming me? Unconscionable! I called the CI, was uncharacteristically irate and let her have it with both barrels, and then asked her to read through my file again and tell me everything she could, IMMEDIATELY. She did, and then sent me a new summary of non-identifying information. And you know what? She called back to tell me that she'd misspelled my first mother's last name and had found her, after all. I swear up and down, without any proof, that the CI is a first mother herself. She was far too protective of my fmom and rude about what I was doing legally. I am sure there's a conflict of interest in there somewhere. Either that, or she is the most pathetically unprofessional woman EVER. Maybe both.

The overall result of the second phone call was the same; my first mother desired no contact, although I got a little bit more medical history and found out that I had possible siblings and my grandfather had died. I sighed. I felt so alone and so unwanted by people whom I desperately wanted to love me back--or at least acknowledge that I exist. I felt powerless and isolated. Civilians (the nonadopted) didn't know what to say or how to help me. I folded in on myself and tried to put one foot in front of the other. To convince myself I was okay not knowing, which wasn't true. I couldn't lie to myself anymore.