I was born in February of 1963 and was adopted at birth by a wonderful family who took me in as their own. I was told stories about how they got the opportunity to choose me, and that I was special to them. My adoptive parents had three biological children; I was the only one who was adopted.
Though I was curious about my biological family throughout my early years, I was busy growing up, getting married, and having children of my own… and I just didn’t have the time or money to do the research necessary to find information about my birth parents.
That is, not until 1993, 30 years after my birth.
I wrote a letter that year to the Court system in Hawaii, where I was born. My adoptive mother knew I would someday want to find my biological family, so she had happily given me what little she had — a court case number and the name of a spunky, young, red-headed lawyer who had handled my adoption. After I wrote my letter, that same red-headed lawyer, who had become a family court judge, wrote back. She also shared with me what little she could, since the law prohibited sharing the names of my biological parents without their permission.
Thanks to this information, I learned that my biological mother was in her early 30’s when she had me, and my father (who was not her husband at the time), was Irish and was in the Air Force. My next step was to hire a private investigator — but it would be another 20 years before my case was finally assigned to a private investigator. By this time, it was April 2014.
After an approximately three-week wait, we received a letter in the mail. My husband opened it after I told him it was probably just more paperwork from the private investigator that we needed to fill out. I was wrong. My husband looked it over and then looked at me. “I just read your mom’s name,” he said.
I didn’t believe him at first, but it was true! Finally, a name. Finally, a place. And finally, a peace. But with a bit of sadness too, because I learned that my mother had passed away just three years before.
I had always wondered if I had any siblings, since my mother was older when she had me, and the answer was yes. There was one name listed, a brother, with a phone number. “Oh my gosh,” I said in disbelief. This is real!
It took me about a week to get the courage to call that number. I battled with myself… so many “what-ifs.” But one night, at the prompting of my husband, I did it. I called. A woman answered — my sister in law. The conversation was easy and we were both excited as she told me that my brother would be so happy that I found them! Wait… them?
I learned that I had four half siblings, along with one full-blood brother!
The next few days were a blur as I talked to each one of them, experiencing both tears and laughter. It turns out they all knew about the baby girl that mommy placed for adoption; they always wondered where she went, who she was with, and if she was okay.
The first sibling I met was my full brother, John, the weekend of July 4th in 2014. It was wonderful! Then my husband and I made a trip to visit the others later that summer. What a reunion it was!
Today, we all get along as if we had known each other all of our lives. I truly love them, and they love me. We have even vacationed together, and we try to see each other a few times a year.
“Before I was formed, You, oh Lord, saw me in my mother’s womb.” This is my favorite scripture: Psalm 139. God’s perfect plan, His perfect timing, and His perfect love, seen in my life through the miracle of my adoption and reunion with my biological family, still amaze me!
