I knew that I was adopted since I was a small child. I can remember a neighbor remarking how much I looked like my mom in spite of the fact that I wasn’t hers.

As long as I can remember my mom explained it to me as a sad/happy story. She told me how my birth mother was a teenager and couldn’t take care of me, so she gave me up so parents who could take care of me and would love me could be found. She and my dad wanted children but couldn’t have any so they went to an adoption agency and put their names on a list. She said that they had their choice of seven baby girls, but fell in love with me at first sight. She told me to remember that I had been chosen to be their daughter.

As I grew old I asked more questions about my birth parents. I would dream of meeting them one day, that I would have lots of aunts and uncles. At the age of twelve I went snooping while home alone. I found my adoption papers complete with family history about my birth mother. I learned that she was number nine of twelve children, she has grown up on a farm, and that she was part Indian. I thought that was funny because when ever we played cow girls and Indians, I always played I was an Indian.

After finding those papers I asked more questions. Not because I need the answers (I had those) but to see how honest she would be with me. Finally she promised that on my 18th birthday we could sit down together and look at the paperwork. My 18th birthday finally came but I was too busy doing things with friends that I forgot about the promise. Then I left home to go to collage and then get married. I no longer seemed that important to me.

Then I got pregnant. I wanted to know things that my mom couldn’t answer. Like what to expect during pregnancy, labor, and taking care of a new born baby. I wished I could talk to my birth mother at that time.

My mom was a trooper. She went to the doctor’s with me and made me move back home for the last six weeks so I was closer to the hospital. When I went into labor she went to the hospital and stayed with me till my son was born. At times I think she was more afraid then I was. We talked during that time. I learned that she had been adopted also and at times wanted to find her birth sister. She admitted that she was afraid that one day I would find my birth mother and forget about her. AS if I could ever forget about the person who rocked me to sleep, took care of me when I was sick, was proud of me when I earned a prize at school, was active in my life, and who had taught me what love really was.

When my third son was born four months early and with some health problems I was given the adoption papers to see if there was any information that would help. Re-reading those papers woke my secret dream of finding my birth mother. Out of respect for my mom I didn’t try.

Less than a year after getting those papers my mom died. Several months later I went to the agency that had handle my adoption hoping they would give me more information. The lady I talked had worked with my dad and had helped with the adoption. She became very upset with me when I told her what I wanted; calling me a very ungrateful, spoiled brat. Then told me that even if she could find out more information, she wouldn’t.

I left the office in tears and decided not to look any more. Over the years I talked about my dream to my extended family and friends but did not actively look. I watched every TV show that featured family reunions and prayed that one day I would be contacted that one of my birth family wanted to meet me. But that never happened. At one point one of my sons was going to contact one of those shows to ask them to find my birth parents for me.

Twenty years after my mom died and I had that terrible encounter with the social worker I had almost given up my dream. One day while driving to my sister-in-law’s house I decided to get off the freeway and go the old road. While driving through a very small town I saw a sign for a flower shop with my birth name. I kept telling myself that it was the wrong spelling or the wrong family. When I got to my sister-in-law’s I told her about it. It took nine months of wondering and her nagging to get me to stop there.

When I stopped at the flower shop, I went in and asked to see the owner. I was pointed out to one of the green houses. As I walk up the sidewalk and older man came out of the green house and then just stopped. As I approached I could see his face getting white. Finally I was close enough to start a conversation. I asked him if he had a sister by my birth mother’s name. I was so afraid that I would be told “no” that I wasn’t paying attention to him saying that he “had” a sister by that name. He then asked why I was asking about her. I told him that I had papers at home that said she was a relative of mine. He grew even whiter and called me by my birth name. When I said “yes” he walked over and give me a big hug and said, “glad you found us. We wanted to find you but didn’t know how.”

Together we walked back into the shop and he introduced me to his staff as his niece. Then he went to the phone and called his two daughters and an older sister. That day I met some of my cousins and an aunt. I was invited to go to meet my grandmother the following Sunday at her 99th birthday party. He also gave my brother’s name and phone number and informed me that my mother has died in 1978 of brain cancer. The name of my birth father was also provided.

The next five months were spent meeting my birth family members and tracking down my birth father. It took two weeks of calling tons of strangers and asking questions. I finally remember a name of one his relatives and called that. It turned out to be my great-uncle. From him I got the name and phone number of other grandmother. I called her and got enough information to find my father. When he called back , he told me how he had looked for me four different times but couldn’t find me. He told me that I had three younger brothers and a younger sister. He came to Michigan two months after the phone call to meet me.

For many years I had felt bitter towards my birth father, blaming him for the fact that my birth mother had given me away. As I grew older, my feelings changed. After talking to my uncle, I learned that it was my grand parents decision, not my mother's but because she was a minor, she had no choice. When I first meet my birth father he wanted me to call him "dad". i told him that I couldn't do that, he wasn't my Dad. While I respected that he had give me life, but my dad was the man who had driven me to the hospital to have my sons, had bandaged my knees, pushed me to do my best in everything, and had been there for me during all my good and bad times. He finally agreed with me and we enjoyed the visit. He told me about trying to find me several times but couldn't get any information and that he had told each of his other children about their older sister. A couple of years later I went to Oklahoma to meet my brothers and sister.

Do you I resent being adopted? No. I had a great childhood and was raised by two wonderful people. I had a better childhood than any of my brothers or my sister.

Did I find what I was looking for? Yes and much more. I started the search to find out medical history. I felt that I had a right to that. I didn’t expect to have a relationship with any of my birth family but instead I have become one of both families as if I had never been adopted out.

Besides the relationship with my birth family I now have the medical history of both families that is helping with my health and my sons’ health problems.

Would I advice another adoptee to look for his/her birth family? Yes. The medical information is very important for them and their families, but not to expect to become a part of their lives. If it happens then you get a bonus.

If you have questions concerning adoptions or reunited with lost family members contact me at kgamet2002@yahoo.com