I was adopted at 3 months by a couple who met the prerequisites of the1960s adoption story: married, Catholic, and with means.  Nothing else was supposed to matter, not the stillbirths of their twin sons nor the losses my brother and I felt re: our first mothers.  But these losses, I believe, begot subsequent family traumas including divorce and alcoholism.  Being the “good daughter” and an A student didn’t keep me safe from the verbal abuse flowing lava-like from my mother’s addiction.  My brother acted out and received her physical abuse.  After my mother’s death I learned her twin sons’ birthdate was in August, the birth month of my brother.  This confirmed for me why he took so much of her rage.

I went to college, married my sweetheart, attended grad school and moved to CA.  Our life is wonderful.  Still, I couldn’t resolve the myriad feelings I felt re: my childhood and adoption, and in my 40s I allowed myself to search.  All I’d known was I was Irish and Russian.  I remember consciously thinking of my birth mother only once when my adoptive dad cried as he was about to leave.  I cried, too, and wished “my princess” mother would take me away.

Parts of my search read like scenes from a Shakespearean drama.  My birth mother wanted no contact but still I found a way to meet her.  A google search unearthed a Secret Garden Tour where her garden would be featured.  I went and there she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt; not the princess I’d imagined, but the person I’d longed for.  Not knowing who I was, she nevertheless told me “your skin looks just like mine”.

My DNA revealed I was half-Italian and I confirmed her former Italian husband, now deceased, was my birth father.  He’d thought I was stillborn, and would mourn me at my mother’s family plot. I have 8 half siblings from him and they are some of the best blessings I’ve received from my search.

Other discoveries came from the synchronicities I’ve uncovered such as learning I’d deferred admission to the law school my birth mother attended.

While I feel I’m committing an act of defiance revealing some truths about my adoption, the more I embrace how much it all matters, the better I feel.