I have been asked many times to write about my adoption and how I found my biological family later on. I thought it might bore people to tears and it still might but here goes.
Before I start, let me say this. I haven’t blogged in a few days as I was not feeling too well. When I don’t feel good, it’s hard for me to feel inspired. I do however feel an obligation to my followers, so again, sorry for the absence.
My story starts in 1958 when I was about 1 year old. My biological mother, Jackie, who already had a 2 year old at home, was looking to find me another home. She got the name of a lawyer who handled adoptions and went to see him, bringing me along.
It was decided at this meeting, that the lawyer would take me home to his house, while finalising my adoption to another couple that he represented. I went to live with the lawyer and his wife, who had recently lost 2 children shortly after birth. Both babies had lived for a short time then died.
What happened next , is that the lawyer and his wife decided they wanted to keep me. They told the other couple that the birth mother, my bio mom, Jackie, had changed her mind and they adopted me. Not exactly illegally, but not exactly above board either. They bought me from my bio mom, Jackie.
At any rate, I grew up with the lawyer and his wife, my mom and dad and had a typical youth.
Skip to age 18, and I am working for a psychologist who does intake exams for the women’s prison in Miami, FL. I was helping the proof reader review her documents before sending them out. This was before spellcheck. As I was reading one of the documents, I recognised the name and some other details and I put it together with what I had learned from my adoption file and realised this was about my mother Jackie.
I got to see my adoption files because my father, the lawyer, was able to get his friend, the judge, to sign off on the request. I realise it is very difficult for many adoptees to see their files and I know I was very fortunate.
I went to the women’s prison and saw Jackie and we visited awhile. She recognized me at once and called me by my birth name, Teresa. She told me my brother, Michael, the 2 year old I mentioned earlier was living in Miami and worked on a fishing boat. I went to see him. It was a bit surreal at first but we came to be good friends.
Much more to this story, but I will continue tomorrow.
By the way, in genealogical news, I met via a group site, a sixth cousin. It was really neat. Still trying to break down the brick walls.
Thanks for reading.